Wednesday Lessons
by 606
Summary: Beginning mere weeks after the Trials, Draco Malfoy has started to dangerously lose control of his magic. His only hope is the tutelage of the famous Harry Potter - but, of course, things never happen easily between the pair of once-enemies. Can one summer really change everything to two teenagers have ever thought about the other? (HP/DM, EWE, pre-8th year, slow-build-ish)
1. Lesson One

ooOoo

Wednesday Lessons

ooOoo

Lesson One

o

"Hatred, by a gradual and quiet process, will even be transformed to love, unless the change be impeded by a continually new irritation of the original feeling of hostility."

~ Nathaniel Hawthorne, _The Scarlet Letter_

o

_Blood pooled around his pale skin, cherry-black stains crawling up his white shirt. His body twitched against the freezing stone floor, his muscles shivering as the slices on his chest continued to weep. A vengeful hissing could be heard creeping in behind him, the heavy sound of a body slithering across the floor causing his shivers to multiply. Suddenly there were scarlet, piercing eyes, a slow, cold smile accompanied by pain, such horrible, penetrating agony ripping through his body, an unforgiving presence smothering his mind in terror. _

"NO!" Draco's eyes flew open, his body sitting bolt upright in his sweat-soaked sheets, his hand clawing at the blood-red Mark on his left arm. He panted as he took in his surroundings: his dresser seemed to have overturned, spewing his clothes all over his polished wooden floors; his mirror was cracked, a sprinkling of fine, shining dust layering any nearby surfaces; his door was swinging on one of its hinges, a large gauge in the middle of the wood.

Draco groaned, covering his face with his hands as he collapsed back on his mattress. "Fuck."

This was getting out of hand.

ooOoo

"Good morning, Darling," Narcissa greeted as Draco shuffled into the dining room, straightening his shirt as Blissy laid out his breakfast. He nodded politely as he pulled out his chair, delicately seating himself in front of his meal of finely cooked Jarvey meat and a green, teardrop-shaped fruit he enjoyed for its nutty taste.

"Good morning, Mother. I hope you slept well."

Narcissa raised a groomed eyebrow, her ice-blue eyes staring hard at her only son. "I did sleep quite well, Draco, though I did hear some commotion at one point." The question, or demand, perhaps, was implied, causing Draco to stare hard at his breakfast, ignoring the physical feel of his mother's gaze.

The dining room was silent except for the quiet _clink_ of silverware against fine porcelain, the noiseless argument between the two Malfoy's charging the air. Draco suddenly, harshly set down his fork, finally making eye-contact with Narcissa. "Mother, what would you care for me to do? I refuse to see a physician; after all, there is nothing to cure."

"'Nothing to cure,' Draco? You do realize this is the seventh time in a fortnight that your room has been practically dismantled while you slept." Draco frowned, turning his head away to stare into the empty fireplace. The grey light seeping into the room from the rain-pelted window cast a dim shadow over the inhabitants of the walls, seeming to reflect the dour mood.

"I know, Mother. But having…nightmares," Draco muttered the word, ashamed of his subconscious, "is not something I want to broadcast, particularly to a society that already finds me vexing and pathetic."

"At this point, my dear, it might not matter what you want: your magic has been unstable for weeks now, Draco, ever since things finally started to settle down after the Trials. You simply must do something before you hurt yourself while you sleep." Narcissa's tone was sharp, as close as she ever got to pleading with her own child.

Draco sighed, slouching in his high-backed chair. "Fine, Mother; say that I wanted to find some way to solve the issue of my unstable magic – who could I even approach to aid me?"

Blue met grey for a long moment.

It abruptly clicked in Draco's mind. "No, no, no, Mother! I refuse! It's simply impossible! I refuse to approach that arrogant, self-righteous, conceited –"

Narcissa's mouth curled into an apologetic smirk as she cut off her son's rant. "You know as well as I do that he is one of the most powerful living wizards; he will surely know how to channel your excessive magical energy." Narcissa took a long sip of her plum-coloured drink. "He also happens to owe me a favour."

Draco's mouth twisted as though he tasted something incredibly bitter. Narcissa gazed at him across the stretched table, watching in a knowing silence. "Fine," Draco finally spat, getting up from the table and stomping to his room in a very childish way.

Narcissa chuckled at his back. "Blissy, please bring me a quill and some parchment."

ooOoo

It was still raining.

Draco sat in his favourite armchair in his father's study, immersed in memories and dreams, the two being startlingly similar recently. It'd been hours since breakfast, hours that Draco passed in a blurry daze: how could his mother believe that…that _prick_ could help him with this? So maybe he was the most powerful wizard living at the moment, and perhaps he was more likely to stay away from the press than others – that didn't mean Draco had to enjoy the fact that he would owe Harry bloody Potter another damn thing.

_But_, a sneaking voice in Draco's mind muttered, _your problem is becoming rather serious, to put it lightly._ Draco reached into the sleeve of his shirt, pulling out the wand he'd been using for the past few weeks, an ancient Malfoy heirloom, the grain of wood and the core unknown. The Slytherin pointed the magical stick at his father's desk, quietly murmuring the spell for it to turn blue.

Instead, it crumbled into maroon-coloured powder.

"Fuck!" Draco yelped as he scrambled out of his chair, kneeling down to run his hand through the fine residue that was once another priceless antique. Draco hit his fist lightly against his forehead, knowing that this level of disintegration was irreparable.

"Fuck," he repeated. He stood, staring hard at the pile of dust, an absolutely mental idea suddenly taking over him. He tossed the wand on the armchair, reaching out to hold his hand over the pile, similar to how one who hold a hand over a broom. Feeling incredibly stupid, Draco whispered, "_Reparo_," willing the pile to return to its previous, intact state.

Nothing happened.

Muttering curses at himself and the room in general, Draco picked up the temperamental wand, turning and exiting the room before slamming the door shut behind him.

The pile of dust quivered, building itself into the sculpted, ornate bureau it had once been. The far-off noise of another door being slammed echoed through the house, and the desk dissolved onto the floor once again.

ooOoo

The air was heavy with moisture, pressing down on Draco's skin as he stood in the decrepit remains of the gardens behind the Manor. The legacy of those last few hellish months of war could be seen around Draco's own home – infecting the place, making it no longer seem like the fortress it had once been to him. The large expanses of burnt grass where Death Eaters had been tortured for hours or days on end seemed to stare at Draco, leering at him.

Draco shuddered, reaching down to grip his Mark tightly, turning the skin around it paler than normal from the pressure.

"Master Draco is being requested to being in the drawing room by Missus Narcissa," Blissy squeaked suddenly from behind Draco, startling the boy. He nodded at the elf, taking in one last, long breath of air before turning and entering the handsome manor that had once been his fort, his one haven from the monsters…Now it seemed to be the epicentre of them all.

"Mother, you called for me?" Draco asked as he stepped around the corner, entering the pale, sky-blue room that was alight with weak, after-storm sun.

"Why yes, Draco. We have a guest, you see." But Draco wasn't listening, his focus averted to the slouching, dark-haired man leaning against the frame of one of the arching windows.

"…Potter," Draco tried to greet as civilly as possible, though he could still hear the taint of venom on his words. Potter barely glanced at him, his look unamused, practically bored. The Chosen One turned his head to continue gazing out of the window, his glasses reflecting light and blocking vision of those famous green eyes of his.

Irritation licked heat into Draco, Potter's clear dismissal of his presence at once both infuriating and familiar. Draco turned to his mother, a questioning tilt in his eyebrows. "Mister Potter agreed to discuss some important matters with me today, and I requested your presence at these negotiations, as they do pertain to you, Draco."

Draco saw Potter glance at Narcissa out of his peripheral vision, one of those dark eyebrows raised with as much emotion as Draco had seen come out of the once-Gryffindor so far. "I thought that we were attending to the life debt I owe _you_, Missus Malfoy, not the ones I potentially owe your son."

Draco's eyes widened, his gaze boring into the side of his mother's face. _Life debts?_ Draco had understood that he and his mother had helped Potter at times, but he'd never thought that any of those occurrences warranted one of the most significant obligations in wizarding law.

Narcissa ignored the palpable confusion from her son, watching Potter with calm, but alert, eyes. "That is correct, Mister Potter. Though I require no return for my aid, my son is in need of your guidance." Draco felt heat rise to his cheeks, but forced himself to retain focus on the conversation.

"Guidance with what, exactly?" Two sets of eyes were suddenly turned to Draco, the intensity of the focus causing him to swallow and straightened his back.

"I have been suffering from some intense…night-time visions, Potter." The ex-Gryffindor cocked that condescending eyebrow.

"You mean nightmares? You want _me_ to help you with your nightmares?" Potter smirked slightly, his tone dripping with disinterested derision.

"That's not all, Potter," Draco continued furiously. "During the night, I seem to lose control of my magic – it seems to explode out of me, for lack of better terms. My room keeps getting destroyed…and it is getting worse. I also appear to be losing my ability to use a wand." Narcissa frowned at the new information.

Potter still seemed unimpressed. "So what exactly do you want me to do about it?"

"We all know that you can control unbelievable amounts of magic, Potter, so there's no use claiming otherwise. I also believe that you are one of the few members of our society who understands the need for privacy and discretion," Narcissa added coolly as she gracefully perched herself on the settee.

The room was quiet for long while, Narcissa and Draco staring at the dark enigma leaning against their window. "Do you need some other sort of compensation, Potter? We can certainly offer a supply of Galleons –"

"I don't need money. How long will I have to help?"

"Until I stop blowing up my house, Potter," Draco said snootily. Potter stared backed at him, projecting his desire that Draco would simply disappear.

"Fine, then. I'll teach _Draco_ how to control his magic, and in return I won't owe any of you any more life debts." Narcissa nodded, standing up and reaching out to shake Potter's hand.

"Very good. When would it be convenient for you to begin helping Draco?" Potter shrugged. Narcissa rolled her eyes, feeling as though she was dealing with children. "Well, Mister Potter, I'm leaving for France on Wednesday, why don't you come by then? Our old ballroom should be plenty of space for whatever tutoring needs to occur."

"Fine. I'll see you then. Good afternoon, Mrs. Malfoy, Draco," Potter nodded unemotionally before following Blissy to the door. The _thunk_ of the heavy wooden door shutting behind the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice resounded into the parlour.

"Well, that went well, don't you think?" Narcissa smiled thinly. Draco grimaced.

ooOoo

Wednesday dawned dreary and smothered in fog, the weather continuing to reflect Draco's stagnant mood. He kissed his mother lightly on the cheek as she stepped into their Floo, twitching his mouth into a reluctant smile as the green fire whisked her away to France.

It was quiet.

The Manor seemed cavernous with its lack of inhabitants – the once richly-populated, lively mansion now a rattling husk with its one lonesome occupier. Draco paced his rooms, staring at the destruction he'd caused the night before – the chaos had spread to the two adjacent bedrooms this time, gaping holes crowding the walls. The Slytherin twirled the ancient wand in his fingers, debating whether to attempt to repair the damage or not.

Before he could decide, a horrendous, ear-splitting screech filled the hallways of the Manor, causing Draco to yelp soundlessly as he covered his ears. Panic fluttering in his chest, Draco scrambled to the nearest window, knowing that the only thing that could set off the Manor's modified Caterwauling Charm was an unauthorized penetration of its wards.

Draco's mouth fell open in outrage: Potter stood in the middle of the stone path leading towards the Manor, the dark-haired layabout waving his wand in an apathetic manner as he simply walked through the various levels of protection Draco's home was trying to enact.

Draco fumbled as he opened the window, leaning out into the cool air before taking a deep breath. "POTTER! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?" Potter looked up at the shouts, his lips twitching as he made eye contact with the red-faced blonde.

"I didn't know how to knock on your completely-_not_-pretentious-and-overbearing gate, so I just walked in," Potter shrugged after casting a quick _sonorous_ on his throat. Draco fumed, not even able to comprehend Potter's lack of manners. He slammed the sill shut, stormed down the grand staircase, called off the Caterwauling Charm, then flung open the front door, causing Blissy to squeak in fright as she dove out of her master's way.

"POTTER!"

"There's no need to shout: I'm right here, Malfoy." Potter leaned in the alcove, brushing non-existent dust off the shoulder of his simple black shirt. "Ready to begin your 'lessons?'" The slightly mocking tone only made Draco madder, but he resiliently kept his emotions in check. _Fine, Potter. You want to make this unpleasant, I'm only too happy to join in your little game._

"Of course – right this way, Potter," Draco said calmly before beginning the small trek to the vast, dusty ballroom that consumed the southern wing of the Manor. Draco crossed his arms, watching Potter take stock of the room: The chamber was circular, mirrors studding half of the walls, while reaching, diamond-paned glass covered the rest of the them, allowing a clear view of the famous Malfoy gardens, though most of the rose bushes and trees were burnt or bare, war and weather the main causes. A large glass chandelier hung from above, causing Draco to rub the small scar on his hairline – a remnant from one of the previous times Potter had been in this house. Potter pulled his wand from the pocket, doing some sort of complex motion that Draco couldn't see.

Nothing seemed to happen. "And what was that for, exactly?"

Potter didn't even turn around. "It's a flexible Shield Charm: unless you use some sort of Unforgivable, you won't be able to physically injure me."

"If I wanted to attack you, Potter, I would be subtler than cursing you in my own home," Draco said flippantly, impatient.

"I know you're not dumb enough to try and kill me, Malfoy: it's just a security measure." Potter strolled to the centre of the room, standing underneath the shining, iridescent chandelier. He raised his eyebrows impatiently when Draco just stared at him. "Well?"

"'Well' what, Potter?"

"Well, do something."

Draco blinked. "What?"

Potter sighed wearily, rolling his eyes. "Are we here to test your magic or not, Malfoy? Just tell me what spell you're going to use and do it."

Irritation prickled Draco's stomach. _Potter would make an awful teacher_. "_Fine_. I'll make it rain, then." Internally praying that the spell wouldn't accidently cause the ceiling to collapse or something as drastic, Draco flicked the wand upward, mouth twitching happily when soft grey clouds coalesced above the two men, rumbling angrily. _Wait…rumbling?_

Lightning exploded out of the dark mist, shooting down and hitting the marble floor, breaking it with a deafening _CRACK!_ and a blinding burst. Draco fell back against the wall with a groan, pain throbbing from his back. He gently slitted open his eyes, glaring with the little energy he could muster when he saw Potter still standing in the middle of the room, unharmed.

"Well, that was dramatic."

_I hate you, Potter_, Draco thought ruthlessly as he stumbled to his feet, dusting off his expensive grey trousers. "So, O Great Teacher, please tell me what the fuck is happening with my magic." Potter didn't even flinch at Draco's scathing tone, merely crossing his arms across his chest casually as the blonde stalked closer.

"…I'm not quite sure yet." Draco opened his mouth, a biting remark on his tongue, when Potter plucked the ancient Malfoy wand out of his hand.

"Oi!"

"I want to try something, Malfoy. Do the spell again."

"And how am I supposed to do that without a wand?"

Potter narrowed his eyes. Something light sparked in Draco's chest at the reaction. _Finally, he's getting mad. Scarhead asked for this. _"Just _do_ it, Malfoy." Draco huffed, re-enacting the position he'd taken a few days ago over the remains of his father's desk, only this time with his palm facing the ceiling, mentally saying the charm.

Nothing.

"Wow, how _incredibly_ shocking, Potter. _Who_ could have _guessed_ that I wouldn't be able to do the spell without a wand?" Draco deadpanned, sarcasm dripping off his tongue. The Gryffindor just sighed, bored again, throwing the wand back to Draco.

"Well, I think I know what the problem is now." Draco just stared at him.

"…And?" Draco finally demanded. "Are you going to divulge this information?"

"…Nah. I'll see you next Wednesday, then, Malfoy." Draco choked with outrage when Potter turned, beginning his leisurely walk to the entrance of the room.

"Potter! You can't just–!"

Potter suddenly stopped, turning around slightly and pointing a finger at the spidery crack splitting the solid marble floor. "Oh, by the way," and with a noise like a droplet of water hitting cement, the crack was suddenly healing itself before Draco's very eyes, the cream stone smoothening. Draco's neck snapped to Potter, who was tucking his hand back in his pocket.

"What-? How did you-? Potter, that's impossible!"

Potter finally grinned, a sparkle reminiscent of Dumbledore's shining from behind his glasses. "Anyone can do wandless magic, Malfoy. It's just no one else is reckless enough to try."

His eloquence still lost to him, Draco gaped at this enigma of a wizard. "You're _insane_."

"Of course I am. But why should that be a bad thing? See you Wednesday."

Potter's smile grew a bit crooked at the edges before he turned and strolled out of the door, leaving a gaping Draco standing in the middle of his flawless ballroom floor.

ooOoo

To be Continued...

ooOoo

**606's Note: So, there it is, the beginning of my first multi-chapter fic that I'm writing all by myself. I don't really know what my posting schedule will be, since I only have three-ish chapters written so far - so maybe one every two weeks or so? We'll see, I suppose. Oh, and, just in case it was unclear for some reason, none of these characters are my own, nor is the universe - it all belongs to the so-utterly-brilliant-it-boggles-my-mind JKR.**


	2. Lesson Two

o

Lesson Two

o

"FUCK!" The half-transformed chair clattered against the wall, not even providing Draco the dignity of bursting into satisfying fragments. The man threw the frustrating, worthless stick he was using as a wand in the same direction as the chair before flopping onto the floor in a puff of dust. Draco sneered at the grey grime floating around him. _No wonder no one ever comes in here – it's filthy._

Blowing a piece of soft, pale hair out of his eyes, Draco stared up at the ceiling of the practically empty bedroom, a long-forgotten memory suddenly popping into his head:

_Draco giggled as he scampered into the old bedroom no one used – apparently his great-grandmother had passed away in here or something. "Draco!" His mum called, light laughter on her voice. "I'm going to find you, my little Dragon!" _

_ The five-year-old covered his mouth with his hands, trying to stifle his voice as his mother grew closer. "I can hear you, Draco…" She cooed as the door to the bedroom creaked open. Draco closed his eyes, trying his hardest not to be seen, pretending as though he was one of those colour-changing lizards his daddy had shown him in a big book from their archives._

_ "Draco!" The blond little boy opened his eyes, startled by the shock and awe in his mother's voice. _

_ "Mummy?"_

_ "You're blue, Draco!" He didn't understand, but he looked down, squeaking when he saw that his skin was a pale cyan, matching the colour of the wallpaper behind him._

_ "Oh, your first magic! Your father will be so proud!" Narcissa beamed as she reached down to hug her son, who squeezed right back, still not completely understanding._

Draco mused on the memory as he leaned back on his hands. Children could do wandless magic, couldn't they? So why couldn't adults? Well, except for Potter, of course. But then again, Potter seemed to be the exception to most rules.

"There is someone being here for Master Draco at the door, sir."

"Very well, Blissy, show them to the parlour room. Oh, and make sure to tidy up in here." Draco slowly got to his feet as the elf scurried out of the chamber. _Now who could be here to see me?_

Draco's footsteps echoed in the dark hallway as he wondered if maybe Potter was mental enough that he'd forgotten their next meeting wasn't until tomorrow. Draco reached the top of the grand staircase, his eyebrows rising in surprise at the dark-haired figure who glared at him from the foyer.

"'bout time you showed your face, you bitch."

Draco grinned. "And it's good to see you too, Pansy."

o

"Well?" Pansy asked when the two Slytherins were comfortably seated in the parlour, steaming cups of tea cradled in their hands.

Draco blinked at her. "'Well' what?"

She pursed her lips. "Well, why the fuck haven't you spoken to me since the Trials? It's been two months, Draco. I don't appreciate you abandoning _me_, your closest friend."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a drama queen, Parkinson–"

"That's rich, coming from _you_."

"Sod off. You know that things have been…complicated around here since then, with Father in France and Mother having to split her time between here and there."

"He still isn't talking to you?"

"Nope." Draco took a sip of his now-lukewarm tea. He set down the cup with a light _clink_, turning his head to look out one of the windows onto the destroyed grounds. "I just wish things could go back to the way they were, sometimes."

Pansy smiled sadly, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I know. But, things can't, so why dwell on them?" _Why indeed_, Draco thought.

The pair of friends was quiet for a long moment, both lost in their own musings.

"Alright, Draco, I have to admit that guilt-tripping you about forgetting me was not the only reason I came today." Pansy slipped a hand into the pocket of her black skirt, pulling out an off-white envelope. Her dark-coloured eyes gazed unreadably into Draco's. "This came for me yesterday."

Draco took the letter from her finely-manicured hands, eyebrows furrowing at the eerily familiar script on the front. He slipped out the paper, eyes widening. "'You've been invited back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to complete your preparations for the N.E.W.T.s examinations in May. If you will be attending in September, please write a response to Professor McGonagall by August 30th.'" Draco stared at the inky green lettering for a long while, feeling Pansy's focused stare on the crown of his bent head. "What the fuck?" He finally whispered.

"I know. It's crazy that they're letting us come back to redo that last year."

"No, it's not that... Why the fuck did you get a letter but I didn't?"

Pansy just looked back at him, surprised. A grandfather clock _ding_-ed loudly in the distance as the shadows began to lengthen in the room.

"Maybe it's because _I_ was never actually a Death Eater, Draco."

Draco didn't have a response to that.

o

Draco lay on the floor of the ballroom, limbs splayed out like a starfish. The feel of dry parchment still ghosted his fingertips. _How can Pansy get a letter but I can't? I didn't think McGonagall of all people would discriminate…_

Draco tilted his head back to watch the entrance, upside-down, when the _clack, clack_ of heavy footsteps approached the ballroom.

"…What are you doing." It was a flat statement.

Draco glared at Potter from the floor, not even surprised that the bastard had seemingly broken into his home. "I don't have to explain myself to you, Potter." Draco checked his watch, an heirloom from his great-uncle. "You're fifteen minutes late, as well."

"We didn't set a time on this, Malfoy. You should be thankful I'm here at all."

Draco rolled his eyes, standing from his prone position. "Yes, _thankful_, that's what I am." Draco raised his eyebrows at Potter's outfit, only then noticing it. "Why are you dressed in full dress robes?"

"'I don't have to explain myself to you,'" Potter said mockingly as he rolled the sleeves of his black robes up past his elbows, revealing toned, tanned forearms. _Well, looks like Potter has finally stopped being such a scrawny git._ In fact, now that Draco really took him in, Potter was just as tall as he was, maybe even a tad taller. When had that happened? _Probably that year he was out saving the world and you were torturing Death Eaters under V-V…the Dark Lord._ "Alright, Malfoy let's get this started, shall we?"

Draco blinked, pulled out of his memories. "Fine. Where shall we begin, O Chosen One?" Potter twitched in discomfort at the name, but didn't comment. Draco smirked.

"Have you preformed any spells successfully since I last saw you?"

Draco tried not to squirm, palming the useless wand in his pocket. "One. I was able to mend a …valuable heirloom when I seemed to destroy it two nights ago."

Potter narrowed his eyes. "Was this object important to you?"

_Ah._ Draco refused to flush. He would rather _crucio_ himself than admit that he'd been devastated when he'd found the disintegrating remains of the blanket he'd been given as a new-born, the dragon-decorated cloth containing so many memories from Draco's innocent youth. He'd felt so relieved when the blanket had actually mended itself when he'd whispered the spell. Maybe this stupid wand was actually alright.

"…Yes."

Potter nodded. "Alright, that makes sense." Potter clapped his hands together, stepping forward to stand exactly opposite Draco. "Pull out your wand, Malfoy." Draco complied, if a bit reluctantly. "Now throw it at me."

"Only too happy too, Potter." Aiming for his face, Draco threw the stick. Potter grinned as it hit some sort of invisible barrier in front of his nose, disintegrating the wood into miniscule fragments of useless history. Draco gaped. "Potter! You just destroyed my wand!" Potter rolled his eyes.

"Whatever, Malfoy. You don't need it any more than I need mine…Which is not at all, if you weren't clear."

Draco stared at him. "Yes, because that was such a _tough_ riddle to crack," he deadpanned as Potter glared slightly.

"Fuck off, Malfoy. It's time for your lessons to really begin. After all, you're going to be learning a completely different way of approaching magic." Draco frowned, not liking the sound of that.

"And how did _you_ learn this way, exactly?"

Potter shrugged infuriatingly. "Taught myself. Wands don't work for me that well anymore, either. According to some Healers, and Hermione, all this magical energy has been building in me and has become unstable – has something to do with being a Horcrux and reflecting too much Dark magic and stuff. I believe Hermione is writing her dissertation for her Healer training on it all, so ask her if you want more specifics." Draco could do nothing more but look at this man, this unreal man who said such strange, horrifying things as though they were almost boring. _Which I guess they are, to him._

Potter clapped his hands together, a determined glint in his eyes. "So let's start already." Potter raised his right hand, his index finger and middle finger pressed together as he drew a curvy shape in front of his face. A long, white feather materialized out of the air, apparently Transfigured from the dust dancing about.

Draco blinked at the blasé way Potter showed off his ability, as though it wasn't an astounding accomplishment in the slightest. Potter dropped the feather on the floor, stepping back. "Okay, Malfoy. Lift it."

"What?" Surely Potter didn't want him to just lean down and pick up the feather.

Potter was giving him that you-are-very-dense look. "The first spell we learned in Charms was _wingardium leviosa_, Malfoy. You are, in a sense, as unfamiliar with _this_ way of doing magic as we were with _that_ way of magic back then. So this is going to be the first spell you will learn wandlessly."

"Fine. So how do I actually preform the spell? Do I have to use a specific finger? Do I require the same movements as the spell, or only the incantation?" Draco wanted Potter to feel just how awful a teacher he was being.

Potter merely shrugged again. Draco's eye twitched dangerously. "I'm pretty sure it's going to be different for you than it was for me. I use two fingers," Potter raised his index finger and middle finger together, "because that seems to be easier to direct the spells for me. You do still use the same movements, so you'll want to move your wrist in that same swish and flick way like with a wand."

"I know how to do a simple Levitation Charm, Potter," Draco snarled. "I don't need your condescending patronage." Potter's eyes narrowed, but didn't respond; he simply crossed his arms and took another step back before gesturing to the mocking feather.

"Go on, then."

Draco took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down before he raised his left hand, pointing his index finger at the light object. Clearing his mind, Draco breathed out gently through his nose before muttering the incantation.

The feather remained firmly on the floor.

Draco scowled, crossing his arms across his chest, tucking his worthless hands in the crooks of his body. _If Potter can do this damned spell without even batting an eyelash, why can't I? _Draco flicked his eyes up from the insulting feather, not surprised to find Potter staring at him, disinterested. "Yeah, that's what I thought would happen."

"Don't mock me, Potter. Being nasty doesn't fit your baby-kissing image."

Potter snorted. "My contract with your mother said nothing about having to be nice to you, _Draco_, so quit being such a prat. Now do the spell again and mean it."

"'Mean' it?"

Potter rolled his eyes. "I must not be speaking in Slytherin terms – put some goddamn feeling into that cold heart of yours and really want to lift that feather, as if the honour of your bloodline or some pureblood supremacy shit depends on it."

Draco just stared back, unconvinced, but eventually turned his eyes back to the snow-white smudge sitting on his cream, marble floor. "Fine." Draco lowered his eyelids, opening that hatch he'd learned to keep closed since he was a child; the door to his emotions seemed weaker than normal, which made since, in a way. Supressed fear and other nameless bursts of intensity bubbled up in his chest, threatening to explode out of him. Draco's eyes sprung open as he channelled all of his raw energy to his extended hand, concentrating solely on the feather.

"_Wingardium leviosa!_" Static seemed to flow through Draco's arm, raising the imperceptibly pale hairs on the outstretched limb. Draco couldn't see the charm as it left his palm, but he could sense it. The feather twitched, as if rustled by an invisible draft of air. It seemed to jump a small bit before it settled back onto the ground.

Draco frowned heavily, disappointed. "Well, it seems the Force _is_ with you, young Jedi." Potter muttered as he lifted a hand, Vanishing the feather.

Draco scrunched up his brow, not understanding. "Did you just insult me, Scarhead?"

Potter sighed, rubbing his forehead. "No, Ferret. It's a Muggle allusion. But whatever: we seem to be making a little bit of progress." A high, shrill noise suddenly emanated from Potter's pocket, and he winced slightly. "Well, I need to be off then. See you next Wednesday."

Draco nodded, still suspicious of Potter's strange words and disappointed that his spell hadn't worked perfectly on the first try. "Fine."

Potter was nearly out of Draco vision when he ducked back into the ballroom's entrance. "Oh, your homework for next week is to get that feather floating flawlessly. It'll take years to get your magic under control if you don't start doing some work on your own."

"Just get out of my house already, Potter!" Draco glared at the condescending man's back as he strolled away, leaving the fuming blonde to himself. _Damn Potter and his smart-arse attitude. I'll show him._

ooOoo

_Cold, unbearable cold. It seeped into his bones, burning a path of pain into his skin. Then fire, a heat so coarse and penetrating Draco knew it was melting his insides. There was laughter, shrill, cracking laughter that came from all directions, scarlet eyes that held an abyss of never-ending black, threatening to overtake Draco's very sou–_

"NO!"

Draco's eyes slammed open, only for him to wince them shut again as light blinded him. Heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest, Draco forced himself to take deep breathes, averting his mind by recounting all that he needed to do that day: Owl Mother, practice that damn spell, try to avoid the temptation of sending Potter a cursed letter – eventually his heart-rate slowed. Draco gently peaked open his eyes again, adjusting to the brightness of morning. He stared at his ceiling, suddenly dumbstruck.

Hundreds and hundreds of feathers stared back at him from their lofty perch.

o

After sending a quick owl to his mother, filled with meaningless words about how 'well' his lesson with Potter had gone and how things were peaceful around the Manor, Draco made his way to the Malfoy library, the high-domed labyrinth of bookshelves and lore a favourite haunting from Draco's youth.

Dust billowed from the room as Draco pushed open the ornately-decorated doors. He coughed, correctly guessing that the room was low on Blissy's priorities now that she was the only house-elf under the Malfoy's jurisdiction.

Fuzzy, intangible sunlight spilled into the room from the dominating windows lining the wall across from the entrance, illuminating the sparse signs of absentee inhabitants: a pile of well-loved, faded books by one of the three olive-coloured settees; a handsome fireplace sitting unlit, looking as though its great mouth was yawning; a glass of sticky bourbon, forgotten long ago by a brooding thinker. Draco passed all of these by, heading to the back left corner of the library, where the few texts regarding magical children were hidden.

Pulling off a few large volumes, and a few bare wisps of books, Draco settled on the rich, wooden floor, leaning back against one of the shelves as he began his pursuit of knowledge.

o

"Draco? Your elf said you were in here after I forced her to let me in."

Draco blinked rapidly, only beginning to feel the stiffness of his back and the strain of his eyes from delving into too many works. "Pansy?" Draco coughed, his voice rough with dust and disuse: the sunlight was gone, replaced by dusky shades of red and violet.

Pansy's head popped out from behind one of the aisles of shelves, peering down at Draco with amusement. "I can remember when we used to play catch-the-Mudblood in here; you were always better at it than me." Draco smiled weakly, memories of competition, laughter, and naivety ghosting through is mind, as foreign as if they were from another life. He shrugged in response, a faint sense of mistrust rising in him when Pansy gracefully settled next to him on the floor, scrutinising his books curiously.

"'_So Your Child's a Wizard'_? Draco, is there something you need to tell me?" Pansy's voice was laced with humour, with the mildest tint of concern.

Draco rolled his eyes, standing to return the volumes back to their places. "Just a little research, Pans. Nothing to worry about." The girl raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but knew when to choose her battles.

"Fine. I'm not here to talk about your weird reading habits, anyways. Have you heard from McGonagall yet?"

"…No. Why would I? I thought we reached the conclusion that Hogwarts wasn't going to be sending me anything."

"Well, we did, but… Theo, Blaise, and Greg got theirs too."

Draco paused.

"Really." It wasn't a question. He resumed putting the books away. "Seems like I'm the only one to not receive an invitation back to that bloody school then; good, it's not like I wanted to return to that hell-hole anyways."

Pansy leant against a shelf, crossing her arms against the front of her black robes. "…Right."

But they both knew that wasn't what any of this really meant.

ooOoo

"_Wingardium leviosa._"

Nothing.

"_Wingardium leviosa!_"

Barely even a flutter.

"_WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!_"

The feather laughed at him.

Draco's eye twitched, his fingers twisting into a fist as he stared at the lone object sitting on the ballroom floor. _You have to _mean_ it, Ferret_, Potter's voice said in his mind. _Fuck off_, he told the aggravating mirage.

But Draco tried, closing his eyes and raising his hand to point his fingers at the feather. He tried pinpointing the most volatile part of his emotions – _Theo, Blaise and Greg got theirs too… My contract with your mother said nothing about having to be nice to you, Draco, so quit being such a prat… You don't deserve to be called a Malfoy, not with that disgusting way of living…_ – and felt the liquid heat boil in his chest. He then stared at the feather with startlingly potent intensity.

"_Wingardium leviosa_," he muttered, knowing somewhere in his bones that the spell was going to work perfectly as mild shocks ran down his outstretched arm.

And it did work perfectly: the feather drifted lazily to the ceiling, following the movements of Draco's hand. The boy laughed, feeling the first real rush of accomplishment in a long time.

Draco proceeded to lift all of the objects he could find in the hallways around the ballroom, feeling as though he'd finally found the answer to this wandless magic: fury. And lots of it.

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

**606's Note: Lesson Three will be up in two weeks. :)**


	3. Lesson Three

o

Lesson Three

o

Draco grinned smugly as the chair floated weightlessly into the air, casting a shadow on Potter's body. "Well, seems you've learned that one," Potter finally said. "Let's move on, then."

Draco felt crestfallen for a small moment, disappointed at Potter's lack of enthusiasm for his pupil's progress, but then the Slytherin berated himself. _Why should I care if Potter cares? Because I don't_. "Fine. What spell is next, Professor Potter?" Draco sneered mockingly, something continuing to sting when Potter didn't even raise an eyebrow at the jab.

"Let's do _accio_ next."

"Why that one?"

"Because it's helped me in many bad situations, Malfoy, and I like the charm." Potter help out his hand, a crash sounding far off in the bowels of the house before the doors to the ballroom sprung open and a small book came soaring through the air, landing in Potter's palm. Potter smirked slightly. "You still have a copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_?" Draco glared at him. "Well, go on then, Summon it."

Draco's mouth twitched into a mean smile. The anger was easier to find this time, considering such a wonderful source of inspiration was standing right in front of him. "_Accio!_" Draco said as he held out his palm. He grinned sharply, showing all of his bright, even teeth, when the book flew right into his hand, and he enjoyed watching Potter's eyebrow rise in surprise. "This isn't so hard, Potter."

Potter was quiet for a while, watching Draco with narrowed eyes. "What were you thinking when you cast that spell?" Potter rolled his eyes when Draco just blinked back at him blankly. "What were you feeling? What sort of emotions?"

Draco's heart skipped a beat in panic for some reason. _How did he know so quickly?_ Draco wondered whether to tell the truth, or come up with some snarky response. "…Anger, mostly." He blinked, surprised with himself.

Potter frowned. "That's what I thought." He sighed, rubbing a hand wearily across his forehead. The action made him seem older than his eighteen years. Draco felt some sort of self-deprecating emotion when Potter's green eyes met his again. "You can't fuel every spell with anger, Malfoy. It's too unstable, not to mention that it doesn't last very long."

"Well, it's worked so far, Potter. What makes you show sure I can't continue to make it work?"

"I just know, Malfoy!" Potter said sharply, almost yelling. Draco tensed in surprise, ready for a fight. Potter took a deep breath, tapping his fingers against his leg in what Draco guessed was an anger-management technique. "So, to prove this to you, we'll try a spell that can't be summoned with anger: the Patronus Charm."

Draco frowned, a small bit of self-loathing seeping into his chest. "I couldn't do a Patronus Charm _with_ a wand, Potter. There's no way I could do it now."

Potter grimaced, a strange mix of a hateful smile and a pitying glare. "Well, that's what I'm here for, Malfoy."

o

"Again!"

Draco racked his brain, trying to think of any glimmer of happiness that might be strong enough to defeat the shimmering mirage of a Dementor that floated a few meters in front of him. Bright flashes of early Hogwarts days briefly lit up his mind, but extinguished themselves quickly as the dark, looming figure of sixth year shadowed them all.

"Now, Malfoy!"

Draco gritted his teeth, rage welling up in him. He randomly thought of the day he'd been Sorted, that flush of pride that had filled him when the raggedy hat had called out 'Slytherin!' – but thoughts of his father suddenly swarmed the memory. _But Father doesn't love me anymore, not like he did back then…_

"Damnit, Malfoy, do the bloody spell!"

Something in Draco snapped. "_STUPEFY!_" Potter went soaring through the air, his body slamming against the glass windows with a dull, slightly sickening _thud_. Draco stared at Potter's crumpled form, then at his hands. He suddenly burst out laughing, the giggles boarding on hysterical.

Potter groaned, picking himself off of the floor, glaring at the sniggering blonde. "What the fuck, Malfoy?"

Draco slowly stopped laughing, wiping his eyes. Something felt satisfied in his chest. "You deserved it, Potter. And you're certainly giving me plenty of fodder to use for all of these spells."

"You're not supposed to be using anger, Malfoy! One day it won't work, and you'll get someone seriously hurt!" Draco sobered immediately, his curiosity piqued as he looked into those enraged green eyes.

"Are you speaking from experience, Potter?" The dark-haired man didn't reply, but his aversion of his gaze was as good of an answer. "I see."

"No, you don't _see_, Malfoy, so just shut up and do the goddamn spell."

"It's a little hard to be fucking happy when you stand there shouting at me! You're a worse teacher than my Aunt Bella!"

"…Did you just compare me to Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"Yes. And, trust me, it's an accurate comparison." Draco expected some sort of curse, maybe a punch across the face if Potter was feeling particularly barbaric. He didn't expect Potter's weary sigh, or the unclenching of the imposing body.

"Alright, I'll admit I'm being an arse. Let's start over, shall we?" Draco blinked, a little suspicious and bemused. Potter suddenly stuck out his hand, "Hi, I'm Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."

Draco stared at the weathered, scarred palm, the faint lines of 'I must not tell lies' etched on the back. "I'm not sure we can go back that far, Potter." The Chosen One looked upset for a split second before smirking sadly.

"Yeah, I guess you're ri–"

"But I suppose we can try," Draco cut him off, reaching out to grasp the warm hand in his own chilly one. "Salutations, Harry Potter. I'm Draco Malfoy." Potter was clearly shocked, his grip loose for a long moment before he squeezed Draco's much softer hand right back.

Draco couldn't help but notice how charming Potter's crooked smile was.

o

"Okay, so how does this work now that we're…acquaintances?" Draco sat on the black marble countertops in the Manor's spacious kitchen, watching Potter take in the opulent elegance of the room. The pureblood sipped at his tea, kicking his expensive shoes against the cabinets in a child-like manner that his mother would've reprimanded him for.

Potter shrugged, leaning against the dual ovens. "The same, I suppose. Except I'll try not to be such an arse and you have to try not to be such a prat."

"What a great way to start off our acquaintanceship, Potter," Draco glared at the man, who only grinned in reply before sipping his own cuppa. The two men sat in a companionable silence, both jumping in surprise when a sharp whistle rang through the air of the kitchen, and a small door in the corner was flung open.

Blissy froze at the sight of her master and Potter. "M-Master Draco is needing Blissy, sir?"

"Oh, not at all, Blissy. We just came in for some tea. Potter, meet Blissy, our house-elf."

Potter grinned, leaning down to hold out a hand for Blissy to shake. Her whole body began to tremble in awe. "H-Harry Potter, sir! Blissy is hearing amazing things, sir! Blissy's friend, Hemmy, is being at Hogwarts during the Battle, sir!"

"Oh, well, thank you, Blissy. Sorry if we're in your way in here."

"Not at all, Harry Potter, sir! Blissy is going now, sir! Lunch is being ready soon, Mister Harry Potter and Master Draco!" The house-elf scurried out the door, leaving an amused pair of men in her wake.

"Gosh, you make all the girls blush, don't you, Potter?"

Potter rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Sod off, Malfoy." The Gryffindor turned up the sleeve of his simple black shirt, frowning slightly as he glanced at his watch. "Well, I suppose I should be going. I'll see you next Wednesday," Potter said with an encouraging smile.

"Right. Unless –" Potter raised his eyebrows in question. Draco cleared his throat, hopping off the counter before continuing. "The day after tomorrow is the summer solstice and I suppose we could continue our quest for acquaintanceship by celebrating it together."

Potter blinked. "You celebrate the summer solstice?"

"You don't?" Draco was flabbergasted. "Potter, it's only the second-biggest holiday of the year for wizarding kind!"

"Oh, well, I've never celebrated it before."

"It's fun. We go dancing naked in the fields under the light of hundreds of fairies."

Potter's mouth gaped.

Draco sniggered. "I'm joking, Potter! It's actually a really fascinating day, considering most magical plants are more potent during that period, so potions can work wonders as well. We also light a giant bonfire at the end of the day – according to Muggle lore, it's supposed to ward off dragons and witches and all sorts of magical creatures, not to mention you can jump over it to keep witches away." Draco shrugged, an ironic smile on his face. "The fire really does nothing but look wicked." Draco paused, wondering if he forgot anything. "Oh! There are also a bunch of rituals you can do to look into the future and increase fertility and stuff. Apparently Seers make most of their money tomorrow."

Potter looked impressed. "Wow. I wonder why I've never heard of this before."

"Well, didn't you live with a Muggle family during most of your summers? I thought I heard that somewhere."

Potter's face twisted slightly, and the conversation was over. "Well, thanks for the invitation, Malfoy. I don't think I have any plans, but I'll have to see." Draco felt put-out for some reason.

"Ah, alright. Well, if you have time, just show up here sometime after noon on the 21st – all the celebrations really start at dusk, but you have to prepare." Potter nodded once before sharing a small smile, then he walked out the door.

Draco wondered why he was hoping that Potter would spend tomorrow night with him.

_How odd._

ooOoo

"Well?"

"What?"

"Hon, don't act obtuse, it's not flattering." Draco sat his cup down on the table, trying to supress his annoyed sigh. He looked over at Blaise, who only shrugged, unwilling to come between the two.

"Pansy, I have no idea what you're talking about," he lied. He didn't meet her blazing eyes, instead staring out at the budding flowers surrounding them, feeling the warm sunlight streaming through the conservatory roof on his face.

"Yes, you do – I know that you're hiding something from me! You have that weird glow to your cheeks and everything. You're even wearing your _gay-boy shoes_, Draco," she declared as though that proved her theory. Draco looked down at his white loafers, the silver buckle shining happily in the light. _Gay-boy shoes?_

"So look me in the eyes and try to tell me that you're not shagging anyone right now." Draco leaned forward in his chair to stare completely at Pansy. Blaise snorted lightly next to her, watching the two silently.

"I. Am. Not. Shagging. Anyone. Happy?" Pansy pouted, distinctly unhappy.

"Fine. I still don't believe you, but I'll let it go." _Right_. Like Pansy even possessed the ability to 'let things go.' "So, are you coming over tomorrow for the Solstice? Daddy's ordering some Chinese wizards to perform a fireworks show."

Draco's heart skipped a beat. "No, sorry, Pans. I'm staying here tomorrow."

"You sure, Dray-Dray? You shouldn't celebrate the Solstice all alone," Blaise piped up.

"Call me 'Dray-Dray' again and I'll disembowel you. And, yes, I'm sure. I should stick around in case Mother fire-calls me." It was a lame excuse, even to Draco's ears, but his two closest friends accepted it, changing the subject to less pressing matters.

"So, Pansy says that you still haven't gotten your Hogwarts letter." It wasn't a question, so Draco didn't respond, but something acrimonious bit at the back of his throat. "Do you want us to owl someone about it? It's not right, you know. She can't discriminate against you like this."

Draco sighed. "Of course she can, Blaise. I was a _Death Eater_ – the world can do anything it bloody likes to me now, and I have no power to stop them." Draco smiled coldly.

"After all, a war never really ends for those who lost."

ooOoo

Draco woke up on the 21st bursting with energy, a rare occurrence for the eighteen-year-old. He jumped out of bed, quickly bathed, then spent the next two hours trying to pick out the right outfit. Typical.

Finally happy with his choices (a tight but comfortable set of black trousers and a thinly striped jumper for the unusually cool summer), Draco bounded to the back entrance of the Manor, taking a deep breath of the dry, pleasantly warm air as he stepped onto the terrace.

"Time to get to work, then," he flashed a boyish smile at the unresponsive gardens.

o

As shadows began to lengthen, Draco couldn't help but raise his hopes every time Blissy would pass in front of him, something inside his chest feeling let down when there were no new visitors. The sky faded into glorious coral pinks, clementine oranges, and lilac purples, and Draco's mood couldn't help but souring.

_So I ended up spending Solstice alone, it's not _that_ embarrassing_, he tried to argue to himself, unsuccessfully. As the sun finally hid under the skyline, Draco sighed, heading out to the large bonfire he'd erected in the clearing behind the Manor.

The crisp, welcoming air ruffled the tousled, work-strewn hairs on his head, and blew the smells of the outdoors into his senses. The Malfoy heir stood on the stone pathway, staring at the large chunks of ceremonial wood that lay in the marble alcove his ancestors had built just for this holiday. Draco took a long swing of the Firewhiskey in his hand, aching memories of charring bodies flickering across his mind.

"Fuck," he cursed as the liquid burned down his throat, making his eyes water; he'd never been much of a drinker. As ambitious crickets began welcoming the night around him, Draco held out his empty hand, filling his thoughts with the bitter tang of disappointment and self-directed loathing. "_Incendio!_" Flames licked at the kindling, similar heat lapping at Draco's insides as he took another drink from the bottle in his hand.

"I thought I told you to stop casting spells with anger." Draco jumped, stumbling an infinitesimal amount when he turned to face the voice.

"Potter! You…" Draco didn't finish the sentence. _You scared me? You actually showed up?_ Neither one was good, so Draco just blinked at the unamused-looking man. He mentally collected himself under the gaze of those green irises, clearing his throat. "Yes, well, I wasn't feeling particularly joyous, so anger just seemed easier."

Potter's brow furrowed as he pulled his hands out of the pockets of his Oxford pullover, raising them in a reasoning gesture. "Malfoy, that's not the point. You shouldn't use anger simply because it's _easy_; just because an option is easy doesn't mean it's the best or safest way to do something." Draco sighed, bored with this argument.

He held out the half-empty bottle to Potter, lifting an eyebrow. "Drink, Potter? Sounds like you need one." Potter simply glared at him for a long moment, his famous, attractive face cast in the shadows of the dying sunlight.

Then the man sighed. "Fine. Thanks, Malfoy. I guess I am in the mood to get pissed," he admitted as he took the bottle, the rich brew filling his mouth. He silently passed it back to Draco.

"So…Solstice, huh? What do we do now?"

Draco shrugged lightly, feeling pliable. "If you were a young maiden we could do some rituals to look into the future and see your husband, or if you wanted to increase your fertility I could make a really powerful potion; but most wizarding families simply feast and socialize and celebrate." Draco smiled into the indulgent firelight that was slowly but surely becoming the main light source. "When I was a child, my parents would throw famously formal Solstice galas: my mother would get out her black diamonds, my father would spend hours creasing his robes perfectly, and when the sun set I'd be forced into painfully pristine dress robes for a seven-year-old, and I'd be told to keep them clean at all costs." He chuckled fondly at the warm memory. "But somehow, every time, I'd end up with stains all over my clothes from sneaking around with Pansy and Theo throughout the night, stealing food from the house-elves and playing games in the gardens."

Crickets hummed in the background, and the fire crackled merrily in the middle of the extensive grounds. "But I suppose that was a long time ago."

"Well, it sounds like you had some fun times," Potter finally added, gesturing for another share of the Firewhiskey. Draco nodded, his smile turning crooked as Potter winced at a particularly strong sip of the alcohol. "But I don't suppose we could steal food and play all night now."

Draco blinked at the man's wistful tone. "…And why not?"

"Huh?"

Liquid courage coursed through Draco's veins as he turned to fully face his confused acquaintance. "Why can't we act like children tonight, Potter? It's the Solstice, for Merlin's sake, and we're only eighteen."

"Seventeen," Potter interjected.

"Be quiet. Anyways, why can't we? It's not like anyone can tell us otherwise!" Draco felt powerful, confident as he watched Potter mull the idea over. He was on the right edge of light-headed, and anything seemed possible.

"Alright, Malfoy," Potter finally said as a slow smirk crept across his lips. "Let's be seven-year-old kids again. Show me what to do," he gestured with an open palm, one hand still grasping the source of their courage.

Draco beamed.

o

"Wait, what exactly we playin', again?" Potter slurred quietly from his crouched position next to Draco. The blonde peered over the dying hedge, his silvery-blond hair shining in the moonlight and the glow of the bonfire meters away.

"For the _third_ time, Potter, it's called Catch-the-Mud…gleborn, so shush."

"'Mudgleborn?' What's a Mudgleborn?" Potter smirked up at Draco, who pouted.

"Fuck off! And…wait a moment, you're supposed to be hiding, Potter! After all, this round you're the –"

"Mudgleborn?" Potter innocently finished for him. The two men burst out laughing, Draco clutching the spindly limbs of the hedge for balance while Potter slouched onto the yellow-tinged grass underneath him. "Fuck, we're shitfaced, huh?" Potter gasped for breath on the lawn.

Draco sniffed condescendingly before stealing the almost-empty bottle of Firewhiskey from Potter's grasp. "I have no idea to what you are referring to, Potter. I am not sloshed in the slightest," he specified before finishing the whole lot.

"That rhymes!" Potter hiccupped hysterically. Draco giggled before plopping down on the ground with his once-enemy, staring up at the velvety sky. The moon smirked down judgementally, while its shining cronies laughed at him. Okay, so maybe he was plastered.

Draco yawned widely, reaching up to rub his eyes in a child-like manner. "Wha'timeisit?" He mumbled aloud. Potter didn't respond, his eyes staring up at those same stars, no doubt seeing something different from Draco.

"Ya know, I was runnin' from Voldie for so long, yet I never sat down and just stared at the stars – it's beautiful," Potter whispered into the blanketing night, causing Draco to look at the man's profile curiously.

Draco's arm reached out, his hand landing firmly on Potter's forehead. "Oi! Whaddafuck, M'foy?" Potter's muffled, irritated voice came from underneath Draco's palm as he shoved it off his face, fixing his smudged, crooked glasses.

Draco shrugged, unrepentant. "'as just checkin' you were real."

"Huh?"

But Draco didn't elaborate, merely soaked in the sensation of prickly, tickling grass brushing his exposed neck, ankles, and toes. Where had his shoes gone, exactly?

"Do'ya ever miss the war, M'foy?" Draco blinked hard, staring unseeingly at the sky as screams echoed in his mind and he could feel the blood on his hands.

"I miss the time 'fore it," Draco whispered truthfully, tearing up grass in his hands.

Potter grunted. "Yeah, me too. It w'all so _simple_, ya'know?"

"Exactly! Maybe y'do have a brain in that skull of 'ours, Potty."

"Shut up, Ferret." Draco simply grinned as his eyelids descended over his vision, heaviness invading all of his limbs.

"I'm sleepy," the heir declared to the world before curling up on his side and pillowing his head into his arms. The last thing the boy heard was Potter's soft "'night, Malfoy" before he was fast asleep.

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

**606's Note: Lesson Four in two weeks! :) **


	4. Lesson Four

o

Lesson Four

o

"-ster Draco, sir! Master Draco, sir! There is being a red man at the door, sir!"

Draco grumbled sleepily as he slowly began to register his five senses. What the hell was that taste in his mouth? "'Red man'?" He repeated confusedly as he opened his eyes, squinting at the piercing light, a harsh throbbing in the back of his skull.

Blissy blinked up at him from beside the bed, looking anxious. "Yes, sir! There is being a red man, sir! He is saying he is needing to seeing Harry Potter, sir! He is saying he is being a Weezly, sir!" Draco frowned, rubbing dried saliva off his cheek. _Why is Weasley here?_ _And why am I wearing my clothes from yesterday while lying in bed?_ _And _what_ is that warmth pressed against my knee?_

"Wha'timeis't?"

_Ah. _

"Damnit, Potter, wake up! And why the hell are you in my bed?" Draco yelped indignantly as he scrambled out of his silk sheets, suddenly very glad that he was still wearing his outfit from the Solstice. The sleepy Saviour of the Wizarding World glared as he sat up, his glasses skewed dangerously and his hair an even more extreme mess than normal.

"How the hell would I know, Malfoy? It's your bed!"

"That doesn't make this my problem!" Draco argued hysterically as he frantically tried to straighten his hair. "And apparently your Weasel is trying to force his way into my house, no doubt looking for you, so get your arse out of here!" Potter looked confused for a moment, then very resigned.

"Right." Potter stood, straightening his rumpled clothes and running a hand through the hopeless nest of bed-head. "Well, I'd say 'thanks' for having me over for the night if you weren't being so bloody rude, so see you, Malfoy."

Potter stormed out of Draco's sunlit bedroom, leaving Blissy and her master behind. Draco stared at the open doorway for a long moment before sighing. _Grow up, Draco. You're trying _not_ to antagonize Potter, remember?_

"Potter, wait!" Draco called out from the top of the stairs as he chased after his irate guest-acquaintance-tutor-person. Potter stopped at the bottom of the flight, his tense back facing Draco. The Slytherin slowed, tentatively approaching his once-enemy as though nearing an angry animal. "Look, I…apologize. It was just a little unsettling to wake up with the Chosen One sleeping next to you, especially the morning after the Solstice."

Potter turned slightly, looking over his shoulder with those sharp, green eyes. "Why 'especially the morning after the Solstice'?"

Draco blinked. "Well, the Solstice is known for its…sensual correlations, so shagging with strangers is pretty common. Just never really thought I'd be sharing an awkward morning after with Harry Potter himself."

Potter frowned, but it was softer around the edges. He puffed out a deep breath. "Yeah, alright, Malfoy, I understand. And thanks, I guess, for supplying all the drinks and shit last night – it was a pretty good Solstice, from what I remember," Potter said with a reassuring smile, reaching out to pat a warm hand onto Draco's bony shoulder.

"-TO SAVE YOU, MATE!" Ron Weasley yelled with righteous anger as the front doors finally gave way to his spells, blasting open forcefully. Draco and Potter blinked at Weasley, who blinked back, mouth agape. Draco was immediately hyperaware of Potter's hand still spreading warmth into his chest, and the way that the two of them looked rather dishevelled in an easily misunderstood way. "Harry?" Weasley asked weakly, his wand hand twitching with indecision.

Potter cleared his throat, awkwardly stepping back from Draco and stowing his hand in his pocket. "Ron. Some reason you're breaking into Malfoy's house at eight in the morning?"

Weasley gawked for another moment until he snapped his mouth closed and glared at Potter. "We tried visiting your place last night, mate, but you were gone. Ginny was worried sick, Harry; and here I find you…shacking up with _Malfoy_?" Weasley's voice rose in outrage as Potter winced slightly, while Draco tried to fade quietly into the white wallpaper behind him.

"I'm not 'shacking up' with anyone, Ron, don't be rid–"

A loud _CRACK!_ sounded from outside the swinging front doors. "Ron! I told you not to come here until I heard – Oh, hi, Harry, Malfoy." Hermione Granger blinked in surprise as she stepped into the Manor's foyer. Draco winced internally. _Great, now the gang's all here._

"Hermione, they were…touching and stuff!" Weasley whined with outraged as Potter choked on argumentative noises behind him. Granger's eyebrows rose into her bushy brown hair and Draco pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingertips, trying to ward off a headache.

"Weasley, Potter and I are _not_ shag–"

"I am not cheating on your sister with _Malfoy_, Ron! The idea that –"

Draco and Potter both began severely spouting their arguments, with Granger watching them both with a calculating glint in her eye. She held up a hand for silence, which the men in the room obeyed. "Look, Ron, I'm sure Harry has a perfectly good reason for why we are finding him here on a day other than a Wednesday," _Potter told them about the lessons?_ ", and we should listen to his explanation. Harry?"

All eyes turned to Potter, who stared at his two closest friends, speechless for a while. "Well," he finally began weakly, "Malfoy invited me to spend Solstice here, and I wanted to know how wizarding families celebrated it, so…"

"_We're_ a wizarding family! Why would you spend such a backward holiday with someone like Malfoy?" Weasley sneered with distaste, as though Draco wasn't in the room. The Slytherin could feel angry, boiling blood rise to his cheeks.

"It's not a 'backward holiday,' Ron, and I think it was kind of Draco to invite Harry over for the Solstice. I'm sure this falls into their contract of trying to be civil – an example you should try to imitate," Granger finished pointedly, glaring softly at her boyfriend, who looked cowed. "However, Harry," she turned her all-knowing eyes on her guilty-looking comrade, "it was a bad idea to simply vanish without a word – especially when Ron is prone to paranoia about Draco murdering you or something."

Potter looked contrite, rubbing a hand through the fly-away hairs climbing down the top of his neck. "Yeah, alright. Sorry," the Saviour of wizarding Britain mumbled quietly, acting as though he was a child caught eating biscuits before supper. Granger nodded, smiling slightly before she turned her eyes to Draco.

She cleared her throat, awkwardness finally starting to impact the brains of the Golden Trio, apparently. "Well, we're sorry for impeding on your hospitality like this, Malfoy. Ron and I will just go now." Weasley looked as though he wanted to argue that point, but a quick look from Granger and he was quiet.

The two turned and made their way out of the broken front entrance, the buddings of a disagreement floating through the air before they Disapparated away.

The Manor was quiet once again.

"…They're at the 'fight or fuck' phase of their relationship," Potter finally stated, staring after his departed friends.

Draco winced. "I did not need to know about Granger and Weasley's sexual proclivities, Potter."

Potter turned a wry smile on him. "Yeah, I wish I didn't know." He shuddered good-naturedly before returning his hands in his bedraggled pockets. "Well, I suppose I'll see you on Wednesday, right?"

"…Right," Draco confirmed, sharing an odd little smile with Potter before he was heading in the same direction as his friends.

He turned right before he was out of sight. "Don't forget to practice your Patronus, Malfoy – I'll know if you slack off!"

"Get off my land, Potter!" But Draco was grinning, and Potter laughed as he Disapparated.

Draco purposely didn't think about the warm flicker in the pit of his stomach.

ooOoo

"…Can you produce a Patronus?"

Pansy looked up from where she was gracefully spread across the antique couch, filing her nails with a charm she'd invented herself. Hot, late-June sunlight fell into the library, the place Draco had been spending more and more time lately as he delved into the complexities of magical theory and its relation to wandless abilities.

"Yeah. Daddy had a tutor come in and teach me before sixth year." The girl curled her mouth into a poisonous grin. "He was a good shag too. But, yeah, he eventually got around to teaching me."

"What does yours look like?"

"…If you weren't my best friend, that question would be too personal to answer."

Draco lifted his eyes from the text he'd been staring at unseeingly, interest piqued at Pansy's warning tone. "Really? Why?" Pansy rolled her eyes at her clueless companion.

"Sometimes I wonder how people think you're so smart, Dray-Dray." Draco pouted mockingly at her, still expecting an answer. The other Slytherin sighed dramatically, as was their way. "A person's Patronus represents the embodiment of all of the positive qualities of that individual – don't you see how asking what someone's soul looks like might be a little personal?"

Draco pondered this a while before nodding. "Yeah, I understand. Are you going to tell me what yours looks like yet?"

Pansy frowned a little before pointing her wand next to the couch, whispering the incantation before a great, shining mass began to expand out of the end of the cherry-coloured wood. The alligator blinked one of its luminescent eyes at Draco before snapping its jaw at him. Draco blinked is surprise.

"You're a…crocodile."

Pansy scowled defensively as the beast faded away. "An _alligator_, so back off if you don't want me to bite you." Draco grinned at her sulky silhouette as she sunk back down into her sprawl on her seat, moodily beginning to file her nails again.

Draco dropped the subject, knowing when to not prod his friend, and turned back to the tome propped up against his legs:

"_Recent studies (see Anecdote 201 for more details to Briar and Hankins's results (1845), and the trials of Professor Juntley (1899)) show that a strong correlation between childhood magical expression (CME) and high emotional statuses. This researcher theorises that stronger emotions like love, hatred and terror can lead to extreme cases of CME, as cases have shown some with as high of a level of power as those of a class three wizard (See Arkens' _The Wizard Within_, 1902 and Gergun's _The Ages of Misteri_, 1589). (See Anecdote 34 for more details regarding the classification of wizarding power levels and the recent literature related.)_"

Draco frowned at the yellowing pages of text, the scrawl blurring as his thoughts drifted. If it seemed as though children could perform wandless magic more strongly with more intense emotions like anger, why was Potter constantly blathering on about how rage was the wrong motivation? Wouldn't these spells remain more difficult to enact as long as Draco was attempting to remain calm while casting them?

"Well, darling, I can tell I've lost you to the words again, so I'm leaving." Pansy stood, walking over and pressing a dainty kiss to Draco's cheek before she was heading out the door. "But one of these days you are going to tell me what you have been so focused on these past weeks," she warned as she faded out of sight.

Draco grimaced at her back. At least that day wasn't today.

ooOoo

"So…talked to your dad recently?" Draco turned his head to glare at Theo, his dark-haired companion staring at him with sympathy.

"No, I haven't, Nott, so just leave it alone." Theo raised his hands in surrender, plopping down on his back next to Draco on the bed. The two ex-Housemates stared at the artistic rendering of the Manor on the ceiling.

"Are you going back?" Draco quietly asked the air. Theo knew what he meant.

"Yeah. I need those N.E. if I'm going to get a good job somewhere… Not to mention Mum would _crucio_ me if I didn't." Draco's head twitched into a small nod. Envy and resentment bubbled in his abdomen.

"Draco, why don't you just contact McGonagall? She might–"

"Don't feed me bullshit like Pans or Blaise, Theo. We know each other too well to do that," Draco pointed out heatedly, twisting his fingers in his black duvet. Theo stared at him with searching eyes before nodding tightly.

"Yeah, you're right. Sorry." Draco grumbled forgiveness. "I just hate the idea of you being holed up here in the Manor while the rest of us return to Hogwarts."

"You know, staying here is probably easier than going back. You do realize your lives are going to be hell, right? Especially for people like you and me." Draco reached over, pulling up Theo's sleeve to reveal the tip of the Mark on his forearm.

Theo's mouth twisted cynically. "Yeah. But how will things ever change if we stay hidden away all the time? I paid my debts, Draco. I don't have any reason to be ashamed of my choices anymore." Theo reached over to touch Draco's Mark, but the blonde pulled his arm away, not making eye contact with his now-frowning friend.

"…Do we need to talk about something, Draco?"

Draco turned his head to narrow his eyes at Theo. "Like what?"

"Like how you seem to hiding yourself in here, or how you're still acting as though you're guilty for all of the things that happened in the war? _Or_ how you seem to be pulling away from your friends? Even _me_!"

"No, we don't need to talk. About anything." Draco restarted his staring contest with the wall so that he wouldn't have to see Theo's disappointed expression.

"…Fine." Draco felt the bed shift as Theo regained his balance on the floor. "Draco." The boy sat up, finally making eye-contact. "You should – no, you _need_ to talk to someone. About Hogwarts, and about everything else. Even if that someone isn't me." Theo said earnestly before leaning down to press a kiss to Draco's mouth. Draco turned his head at the last moment, so Theo's gentle lips brushed the soft skin of his cheek instead.

Theo straightened, regarding Draco's flushed face with an intrigued look. The two had kissed each other good-bye ever since they'd dated back in fifth year, even after they'd split up months after; it was a simple sign of intimacy that two people who knew so much about the other could do easily. "Draco are you…dating someone?" Theo asked with a grin.

Draco whipped his head to scowl at the other boy, opening his mouth to protest before closing it again. His cheeks felt hot as Theo laughed at him. "NO, I am not, Theodore! So stop laughing!"

"Oh Merlin, this is too precious. Little Dray-Dray, arse over tit for some poor bloke! Oh, I never took you as one for monogamy, Draco," Theo giggled hysterically as he kneeled over, resting his hands on his kneecaps. Draco got up on his knees, leaning over to forcefully push Theo's bent body, causing the taller boy to fall onto his arse. He still laughed from his sprawled position.

"Well, who is it?" Draco glowered.

"I'm not seeing anyone!"

"Come on, tell me! I promise I won't tell Pansy," Theo said with a seductive grin that had once caused Draco to melt inside.

"No! I'm not!"

"Well, at least tell me it's a bloke, right? You're not going through another sexual crisis, right?" Theo pulled a face, remembering the last one vividly.

"Yes, it's – I mean, I'm not dating anyone!" Draco floundered as Theo laughed delightedly. Draco raised his hand, feeling the _thump_ of his heart and the adrenaline rushing through his system. He murmured a quick incantation and Theo popped out of the air, disappearing in front of Draco's eyes.

The exhausted boy fell onto his bed with a groan, knowing that Theo would be sending him an angry owl about the forced departure soon enough. Draco blew a few strands of blond hair out of his eyes, feeling a squirming sensation in his stomach.

_I do _not_ fancy him. Obviously. We're barely acquaintances._

Something in Draco sunk slightly.

_That's right. I'm a job to him._

ooOoo

It was a misty Wednesday, the moisture in the air acting as though it was too lazy to coalesce into real drops. Draco stood facing the stretching windows in the ballroom, his hands on his slender hips. He scowled at his reflection, trying to reach into the deep folds and creases of his memories.

According to the texts he'd read and from Potter, he needed some extremely potent, happy memories to fuel this spell. _Good luck with that_, his mind deadpanned. Draco shushed his pessimistic side and closed his eyes, trying to recall something, anything that made that warmth appear in his chest.

_"Come on, Draco," Clyde beckoned gently with his dragon-hide glove, patting the vacant seat on the broom in front of him. Six-year-old Draco wrung his fingers together, biting his lip nervously. His father had hired Clyde to teach Draco the basics of flying from the earliest age possible, as was tradition with the Malfoy's. _

_ Clyde's roguish smile softened, and his Scottish accent was warm and strong. "Come on, Draco. Nothin' feels better than flyin'. It's a power you'll never feel anywhere else." Draco peered up at Clyde's hazel gaze, straightening his back with courage from deep within his chest._

_ With a little help, his childishly soft body was straddling the broom, Clyde's chest pressing heat into his back. "We're gonna kick off now, alright?" Clyde warned before they were soaring into the air, stinging winter air running its cold hands across Draco's pink cheeks._

_ Draco laughed, amazed as the Manor shrunk beneath them, the pink, white and black dot of his mother becoming smaller by the moment. He lifted his left hand, feeling as though he could catch a cloud in his grasp. Surely this was what birds felt every time they spread their wings…_

"_Expecto Patronum_," Draco said, pointing his outstretched hand at the robed mannequin he had sitting in the middle of the room. With an odd draining sensation, fuzzy white light seeped from his fingers, uniting into a cloud-like mass in front of him. Draco panted, able to hold the brightness in his chest for almost a minute before he dropped his hand, the mist fading away.

He sat down heavily on the marble floor, running a hand through his short hair. _Okay, that memory clearly wasn't strong enough._ He propped an elbow up on his knee, resting his chin in his hand as he tried to think of something else.

_Their backs to the ancient tree trunk, Theo and Draco leaned their shoulders against the other's, their laughter spilling around them as the lights from far-off Hogwarts' windows shone off the frozen lake. "You know, Umbridge is gonna kill us if she finds us out here," Theo pointed out as Draco took another sip of their confiscated bottle of Firewhiskey. Liquid heat pooled in Draco's belly, and he grinned at Theo, ruddy colour from the cold and the alcohol in his cheeks._

_ "Like the old hag cares about anything but Potter's little gang." Theo nodded, Draco's grin contagious. The two boys sighed, giggling drunkenly as their breaths formed small, visible puffs of air in front of them. A single, drifting ice crystal landed on Draco's bent knee. The Slytherin gasped before looking up at the clouds in the night sky._

_ "It's snowing, Theo!" The dark-haired male simply smiled, his eyes never leaving Draco's amazed expression. Theo gently reached out a hand, grasping Draco's chin in his palm before turning his friend to face him._

_ "Yeah, it is," he stated simply before pulling Draco's chin towards his own, pressing his mouth against his friend's in a hot and cold kiss._

_ "…Wow," Draco finally whispered as he pulled back, blinking snowflakes out of his eyelashes._

Draco tried to focus on that tingly feeling, grasping at it desperately as he stood, raising his hand one more time to point at the falsified Dementor. "_Expecto Patronum!_" The cloud seemed a little more substantial this time, hinting at some large shape that just wouldn't completely form. Eventually Draco had to let go, leaning over to catch his breath.

"Good try."

Draco's neck popped as his head shot up to look at Potter, who leaned against the entrance casually. The Gryffindor lifted one side of his mouth in a half-smile before pushing off the wooden archway and nearing the Slytherin.

"My guess is that you just don't have enough endurance with holding onto those emotions for long enough. At this point, you just need practice."

"So I suppose I have no need for your tutelage anymore, then?" Draco said snidely, still a bit breathless. Potter smirked.

"I'm not through until you can fully produce a corporal Patronus, Malfoy. After that, we'll see." Draco didn't like the small part of him that was so pleased that Potter would be forced to see him for a while longer. Potter reached into the pocket of his dark jeans, pulling out a small bar of chocolate. "Not Honeydukes', I'm afraid, but it'll help; a little physiological happiness never hurt, after all."

Draco caught the sweet in his hands, looking at it blankly for a long moment before lifting his head. "Thank you, Potter."

That crooked grin made another appearance. "No problem, Malfoy. Now what are you waiting for? Do the spell again."

Draco smiled.

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

**606's Note: If this seems to be going too slow for you, just know that things really pick up in Lesson Five. But I suppose you'll see for yourself. Until March 28****th****, then! :)**


	5. Lesson Five

o

Lesson Five

o

"Shit," Draco cursed as he ran a hand across his sweaty forehead. His room was in tatters. Again.

_Why the fuck is this still happening?_

His toes brushed the dusted remains of his 150-galleon mirror, the softly sharp remnants sparkling in the bright light from the broken windows. The boy took a deep breath, gathering his resolve. "Blissy," he called towards the door-shaped hole in the wall.

"Master Draco is needing Blissy, sir?" The elf asked as she scampered through the rubble. Draco frowned, crossing his pale arms across his even paler bare chest.

"Yes. Please bring me some parchment, a quill, and Hermes. I need to send Mister Potter a correspondence." Blissy nodded fervidly, dashing out of sight. Draco turned towards his windows, warm morning air brushing against the cursed ink of his forearm.

He shivered with disgust.

o

Potter showed up within an hour, looking…relieved. "Malfoy," Potter smiled as he stepped through the entranceway, Draco perched expectantly on the stairs. "Thank God you owled me when you did," he patted Draco's shoulder in an oddly friendly manner before plopping down next to the bewildered boy. "So, you needed me for something?"

Draco stared at him, blinking twice before clearing his throat and standing. "Yes. Potter, come with me." Potter raised a questioning eyebrow, but followed Draco up the grand staircase anyways.

Draco paused momentarily in front of his door – at least there had been enough of that to reassemble – before taking a deep breath and pushing it open. _You know, Potter's the first man besides Theo and Blaise you've ever had in here_, a sly part of his mind whispered as the battlefield that used to be his room loomed into view.

"Woah," Potter whistled as his trainer connected with one of the fallen legs of an armchair. "What happened here?"

Draco internally squirmed. "I told you I had…nightmares," he finally muttered, avoiding Potter's eyes by reconstructing a gutted pillow with his outstretched hand.

"…Well, even I've never had nightmares that decimated a room as thoroughly as this. How did the bed survive, exactly?"

"Well, I sleep on the bed, so I suppose the blast range went around the epicentre," Draco said haltingly, turning his head to look at Potter blankly. _He's not even going to make fun of me?_

Potter nodded, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "Well, that makes sense. So, what did you need me for exactly?"

Draco floundered momentarily. "Potter! You're supposed to be instructing me on how to _not_ blow up my house. That's why I've put up with your bloody teaching for the past many, _many_ weeks!"

Potter frowned, looking a little sheepish. "Well, this _was_ supposed to teach you how to channel all that energy, but it also got your emotional side more connected to your magic – so it reacts when you have frightening dreams." Potter paused for a long while. "I guess I should've thought this through a bit more."

"…That should be your catchphrase, Potter."

Potter blinked, then he burst out laughing. "How do you even know what a catchphrase _is_, Malfoy?" He gasped as he sat down on the rumpled bed, still chuckling.

"I read, Potter. Yes, even Muggle literature on occasion. I suggest you try and pick up a book sometime; might help that 'thinking through things' idea of yours." Potter simply grinned at him. Draco huffed in response, crossing his arms sulkily before sitting down next to Potter on his bed. "So, what do I do now?"

"Well, now, we're going to get pissed so we can sit down like real blokes and talk things out."

"Potter, things didn't go so great the last time we got hammered."

Potter snorted in agreement. "Yeah, I guess you're right." The two boys were quiet, a stray breeze ruffling their hair. "Well, how else are we going to talk this out, though? Two normal chaps shouldn't do this sober."

Draco flopped onto his back, pressing his folded hands to his stomach in a sloppy manner that would have horrified his etiquette instructors. Potter watched the sprawled man over his shoulder, an amused glint shining behind those glasses. "Since when were we normal, Potter? I was a Death Eater for a horrifying while, and you were the bloody Saviour of the European Wizarding community. Multiple times, even!" Draco sighed, lifting a hand to rub his forehead. "Maybe I do need a drink."

Potter reached out, swatting Draco playfully on his abdomen, causing Draco to make a noise of surprise. "Don't be so dramatic, Malfoy." Potter puffed out his cheeks before falling onto his back as well, the mattress shaking from the action. Draco could feel the warmth of Potter's bicep pressed against his. "Okay," Potter stared up, determination on his features, "let's do this." Draco tensed.

"So, what do you dream about?"

That was the question, wasn't it? Draco winced at the spidery crack stretching across the painted ceiling. "…Potter, I think you know that that is a rather personal question."

"…Yeah, I do know. But I'm asking anyways; I also think you know that I'm the wizard with the most experience with nightmares." Potter sighed. "It would take a lot to surprise me at this point."

Malfoy snorted, flexing his fingers against the stiff fabric of his dress shirt. "I imagine that's correct… What haven't you fought against? You've dealt with basilisks, Dementors, sphinxes, Umbridge, Death Eaters, and even the Dark Lord himself. No wonder people treat Harry Potter Day as such a big deal; you're a fucking god, aren't you?" The sarcasm was flavoursome on Draco's tongue.

Potter turned his head, scowling lightly. "I'm _not_ a 'god', Malfoy, and I happen to _hate_ 'Harry Potter Day' – it's such a load of shit. But don't think that I'm just going to let you deflect the question: What do you dream about?"

Those green eyes were open, judgement-free. Draco waited as long as he could before muttering, "The war, mostly. The time He was here at the Manor. Pain… Sometimes all of the above."

Potter held his gaze, unblinking. "…And?"

"What the hell do you mean 'and,' Potter?" Draco said sharply, feeling oddly unprotected.

"Are you going to get more specific?" Potter said calmly, slowly.

"No."

"…"

"Fine! Merlin, Potter. There's always…the snake." Draco shivered involuntarily, a cold drip sneaking down his spine at the mere thought of the scaly, infinitely-long body sliding around his feet, those slitted eyes watching, always watching.

"Nagini?"

"Yes, dammit! That damn snake terrified me." Draco stared, haunted, into Potter's eyes. "He once made all of us second-generation ones attend a special dinner just with Him – He Summoned one of the lower level Death Eaters, one who'd displeased Him somehow, and fed him to the snake. Stunned, but alive." Draco's voice was hoarse. "She started at the feet, leaving the man's eyes staring at the five of us while he was slowly killed. Merlin, the way his eyes _pleaded_ with us, to do _anything_. But we all just sat there, so fucking horrified."

Draco took a deep breath, flinching slightly when Potter gently pressed his arm more firmly against Draco's for support. "And then, with that damn snake sitting in the corner with its extended belly, He simply called for dinner and had us eat with Him, right there at that table… That table is still sitting down there, taunting me, Potter…This whole house is laughing at me, permeated with all of my memories." Draco shuddered again, clutching his shirtfront tightly with white knuckles.

Birds chirped somewhere far off outside, their song clearly distinct through the lasting holes in the windows; it seemed ridiculous that the world was still turning far away, so many on the globe not even knowing who Lord Voldemort had been.

"…I dream about being too late."

Draco looked at Potter when the other wizard finally made a noise. "'Too late'? What do you mean?" The question was almost inaudible, the feeling in the air too fragile for normal volume.

"I dream that I'd been too late to save the few that I did, that I never even had a chance." Potter grimaced at the windows, Draco now staring at the back of his messy hair. "That I finally show up at Hogwarts and it's all…over. Finished without me, and their bodies just stare at me, blank but accusatory."

"But you weren't too late, Potter," Draco finally whispered into the pleasantly, mockingly warm summer air. Potter finally turned back around to stare at him, his eyes oddly glazed.

"Since when does what really happened impact our dreams? My mind can only seem to dwell on what could have happened." Draco nodded, only just comprehending Potter's problem.

The two shared that look of mutual understanding for a long, undeterminably long, moment. And then Potter sat up.

"Jesus, I need a scotch," he mumbled as he ran a hand down his weary, young face. Draco watched his back, the wrinkles on Potter's t-shirt containing the secrets of the universe. But then he sat up as well, squeezing his clasped hands in-between his two knees.

"I suppose I can oblige you there, Potter." Draco smiled weakly, still feeling raw. Potter met his eyes, those green windows just as unguarded. "Consider it payment for spending some of your leisure time with me." And then those green windows were abruptly closed again.

"…Payment, right." Potter suddenly stood, checking his watch. "I actually need to get going. I'll still see you on Wednesday, Malfoy."

Potter shut the bedroom door behind him, leaving Draco sitting on his bed, confusion and sunlight bathing his face.

ooOoo

"Everything is _fine_, Mother," Draco repeated, exasperated at the icily worried face framed in the fireplace.

"Darling, you have told me that three times now, yet I do believe you are not being completely honest with me." Draco wilfully stopped himself from rolling his eyes at his mother's passive-aggressive way of arguing.

"I do not know what else you want me to say, Mother. The Manor is intact and safe; I've been maintaining healthy contact with the outside world through Theo, Blaise, and Pansy; and my lessons with Potter are becoming less and less necessary." Draco raised his eyebrows in a bratty manner.

Narcissa pursed her lips disapprovingly. "…Very well. If you do not want to elaborate, I cannot force you; I just wish you felt more comfortable talking with me, my little Dragon." Draco felt her intended stab of guilt. The air was quiet except for the soft crackling of the fire outlining Narcissa's aging face.

The witch sighed. "Then I suppose this is goodbye, Draco. I won't be home for a few more weeks, so make sure you eat properly and begin reviewing for your return to Hogwarts. The Greengrass's girls have been studying for months, apparently, so that they don't fall behind in their classes."

Draco's throat felt tight, unwilling to relay the news to his mother that he alone had never received an invitation back. So he schooled his features into earnest calm and nodded tightly. "Your father sends his love, and I expect more letters!" Narcissa called before her visage was gone.

Draco knelt on the smooth wooden floor of the kitchen, staring at the ashes in the grate as though they could save him from his reality.

ooOoo

Draco gasped for breath, leaning his weight onto his knees, stray hairs sticking to his damp forehead. "Fuck, I can't anymore, Potter," he breathed, a sinking feeling in his gut.

Potter frowned from his seat on one of the windowsills. "You can do this, Malfoy. It shouldn't be draining you this much," he noted with a small amount of concern in his tone.

Draco smirked wryly, lifting his head to share with Potter. "I guess I'm just too unaccustomed to happiness for this spell to work." Instead of smiling at his joke, Potter's frown deepened, a look that horribly resembled pity flashing in his eyes. Resentment, Draco's old friend, sparked in the pit of his stomach. _How dare Potter have the audacity pity me_, he snarled to himself.

Collecting himself in a way he hadn't had to in the past few weeks, Draco stood, slowing his breath and his heart-rate. "So, Potter, what do you suggest? You are supposed to be the expert here, after all."

Potter didn't say anything, his stare full of thought. "Maybe we should –"

"Potter, just admit it: we've been trying this for three weeks now – I can't do it." The words were bitter on Draco's tongue, the taste of truth rather unpleasant. Potter stood from his seat.

"You _can_, Malfoy. Come here." The man gestured for Draco to approach him. The blonde tensed when Potter turned him so that he was facing the windows viewing the garden – the first sprigs and buds of rebirth were beginning to peak into the midsummer air.

Draco jumped when Potter grasped his right hip, the other weathered, calloused hand clasping Draco's left wrist and lifting it up. "Potter! What are you–?"

"Just listen to me, alright," Potter said softly into his ear, ruffling the short, soft strands of hair on the side of Draco's face. "You have to _believe_ that you can do this in order to be able to. Believe in yourself, Draco. And don't just think that I'm spewing a bunch of stupid Gryffindor shit – it's true. So be the self-confident bastard I know you can be, and have a little faith in your ability." Draco refused to blush at Potter's benign tone.

"…Come on, Draco. You know the spell…"

Warmth seemed to flow from Potter's grip on his wrist and his hip into his chest - Draco allowed it to fill him up, Potter's smell of wood, lemons, and bread blanketing his senses. "_Expecto Patronum_," he whispered finally, barely breathing the words.

Electricity streamed through Draco's veins, sparks shooting up his spine. Silver light burst from his fingertips, coalescing into a simultaneously shining but dark beast, gleaming eyes staring at Draco with intelligence before the large feline opened its mouth in a silent roar. "I did it," Draco stated with disbelief as the panther circled the two men, radiating the warmth and security Draco was always secretly craving.

"I did it!" Draco repeated, his chest feeling lighter than it had in years, real flickers of joy filling him up. "Potter, I _did_ it!" Draco turned his head, tilting back to look into Potter's incandescent green eyes, seeing amusement and some of his own happiness reflected therein. Draco's heart unexpectedly began beating faster, his body suddenly hyperaware of Potter's arms around him. The two men gazed at each other, their faces outlined by the silvery mist of the circling panther, the air suddenly stifling with invisible, electric tension.

But then the moment broke. "Yeah, you did it, Malfoy," Harry murmured with a soft smile, tightening his grip slightly on Draco's wrist and waist before letting go and taking a short step back. "I knew you could."

The panther blinked at the two hopeless souls for one more moment before fading away into nothingness. Draco's smile dropped off his face, his body abruptly feeling cold.

Potter glanced at that cracked watch he always wore, his mouth tightening slightly. "Well, I need to be going. See you."

Draco didn't stop the dark-haired man as he walked out of that giant doorway…but he couldn't help thinking how nice that 'Draco' had sounded on Potter's tongue as he gently wrapped his fingers around his still-warm wrist.

ooOoo

Draco awoke the next morning to the fireplace in his bedroom screaming at him. Well, not the fireplace itself, but the face framed by it. "DRACO ABRAXUS MALFOY. GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE AND LET ME THROUGH THIS MOMENT." The young man groaned, rubbing a hand across his eyes before stumbling to the grate, saying the password to let the irate Pansy Parkinson into his once-peaceful haven.

"_What the fuck is this?_" The brunette yelped sharply as she thrust a paper in Draco's face.

"And good morning to you too, Pansy," Draco deadpanned as he grabbed the _Prophet_ out of her hands. His thin lips parted in shock as the headline shouted at him: CHOSEN COUPLE BREAKS OFF ENGAGEMENT, POTTER SPOTTED VISITING MALFOY MANOR WEEKLY.

"- the fuck?" Draco breathed as he watched the blurry, grainy snapshot of Potter passing through the Manor gates, juxtaposed to a photograph of an extremely annoyed-looking Potter and the Weaselette.

"Exactly! Now put on some fucking clothes and explain to me how, according to this, Potter is breaking up with that ginger whore for _you_." It took a moment for Pansy's words to reach Draco through the tunnel-vision he was experiencing, but he eventually did shrug on the first shirt-like item he pulled out from his closet (one of his many black jumpers) over his pale chest, then sat heavily on his bed, Pansy perching herself daintily next to him, all the while judging the unkempt state of Draco's bed-head and his worn, 'S'-patterned pyjama bottoms.

Draco kept re-reading the headline, his knuckles white with strain. "They were _engaged_? Does she even have the Trace off of her yet?" Pansy just stared at him, not understanding the deep, panging hollowness that was settling in Draco's stomach.

"You're focusing on _that_ detail? Draco, when was the last time you read the _Prophet_? Or left this house, for that matter?" Pansy's voice was a strange mixture of concern and suspicion that grated against Draco's ears. "'The Chosen Couple' is all anyone talks about. You'd think they were royalty or something." Pansy pulled a cigarette out of her pocket, using her wand to light it before daintily taking a drag. Draco normally would've reacted with disgust at her habit, but was still to numb to move. "I think everyone uses – well, _used_ now, I suppose – their young love as a symbol for the hope in the future of society or something. It's sad, really. Merlin knows how their first child would have been celebrated. There'd probably be another Potter day named after it…Draco?"

"…"

Something struck Pansy, and she almost dropped her stick of smoke-able cancer onto the bedspread. She Vanished it instead, grabbing Draco's shoulder with a strength that surprised most of its recipients. "Wait; don't tell me that it's _true_?" Pansy eyes glazed for a second as Draco refused to look at her, still watching the mini-Potter in the photograph glare at him as Weasley hung off his arm, sneering at him. "You – and – Merlin's bollocks, _Draco!_"

The numbness was starting to recede as all too familiar cold and stiffness reacquainted itself with Draco's muscles and psyche. "Don't be ridiculous, Pansy. Of course Potter and I aren't – weren't fucking. Like Scarhead is anything less than a straight arrow – in all meanings of the phrase." Draco stood, his back to Pansy as he walked into his closet, changing into a more formal, Malfoy-esque outfit. It felt like putting on a second skin, and Draco was grateful for the shielding.

"Well, you can't deny that Potter's been visiting here, can you?" Draco winced slightly as he stared at himself in the mirror in his closet, spelling away the dark, bruised-coloured smudges under his eyes. "…I'm going to take your lack of a response as the conformation it is and sit here until you enlighten me as to why the most famous wizard in Europe has been visiting you every Wednesday this summer."

But before Draco had to return to his bedroom and face his best friend, a second voice entered the room. "There is being many letters here for Master Draco. Shall Blissy be bringing them here?"

Draco walked back into his bedroom, opening his mouth to agree before the strangest memory popped into his head: Granger had been the subject of all of those cursed letters back in fourth year because the world had thought she'd broken Potter's heart or something ridiculous like that. Draco didn't even want to know the amount of hate that was now focused on him for apparently turning the Boy-Who-Conquered-Death into a faggot. "Please destroy all of them at once, Blissy, unless they come from my mother, Blaise, or Theo…Or Potter." Pansy raised an accusing eyebrow at him while the house-elf bowed and scurried off.

"…Why wasn't your dad on that list?" It wasn't the question Draco had been expecting, and it hurt in an unexpected way.

"His letter would probably be the most dangerous of them all."

o

Pansy stayed all day, a not-so-silent pillar of strength that Draco hadn't even know he'd need as dozens of Howlers still managed to get through Blissy's and the house's defences. The insults and accusations, not to mention the threats, were unsurprising and actually caused Pansy to laugh a couple of times at their inanity. "Obviously none of these people were Slytherins or they would've learned how to properly get under someone's skin." But even as she giggled, she leaned over and rested her head on Draco's shoulder, subtly giving him the tiny bit of physical comfort he desperately required.

Because even if he was a cold-hearted bastard who knew that he was above all of these plebeians who were writing these pathetic excuses of complaints, each hateful name or label expanded that well-hidden crack buried deep, deep in his chest just an undetectable bit more.

And as the sky darkened and the stream of mail slowed slightly as people began to rest their hateful minds for the night, there was still no word from Potter.

ooOoo

The note appeared on the pillow next to Draco's head on the morning of the Wednesday following the Reveal, as Pansy called it.

_I will be returning from France tomorrow. We will discuss your next actions following the article then. Your father sends his love._

_ ~ N. Malfoy_

Draco swallowed, his throat suddenly parched. He seriously doubted that last sentence, but ignored the whisperings of emotions that lingered on the edges of his mind at what exactly his father thought of him now. That was hardly the most pending of his worries at the moment.

Draco cast a wandless _tempus_, collapsing back against his cluster of pillows when he saw that it was already an hour after noon. He felt guilty for practically sleeping the day away, but what else was he to do these days, anyways? _When _was_ the last time I left the Manor?_ Draco stewed on that for a while, embarrassment welling up the longer and longer he realized it'd been. _Months, then. This probably isn't healthy._

And it's not like he could leave now. If he had been worried about the torment he would've received a month or two ago, he didn't even want to think about how it would be now. Draco groaned, rolling over on his stomach and wishing he could just smother himself on his imported sheets and be done with it all.

But, unfortunately (or fortunately, depending), that Malfoy streak of doing anything to scrape by and pass on the bloodline just a little longer wouldn't allow Draco to just die like that, so the blonde rolled out of bed and began the lengthy task of preparing the Manor for his mother's return.

A strange, lead-heavy sensation began to smother Draco's chest as the grandfather clock in his father's study began to tick closer and closer to three o'clock.

_He's not coming. You know he's not._

_ But…he might? This slander involves him too, after all, so why wouldn't he come, if only to discuss what we should do next?_

_ Like he cares about your end of the problem. He's repaid the life debt, you imbecile. You think he's going to even bother with you now that you've caused him all this trouble? He can't even _stand_ you._

_ But what about the other day? I mean, he must've felt it too…_

_ 'Felt' what? He's been fucking the Weaselette for years now – fuck, they were _engaged_ even. Don't you think you would've heard if the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice was a queer too?_

_ …Maybe he's bi._

_ We both know that if you're using that argument then you know you're only thinking wishfully. Grow a pair and face the facts: you have a fucking crush on Harry bloody Potter and now it's been confirmed that nothing will ever happen between the two of you. That's it._

Draco sat in the ballroom anyway, his fingers picking at the expensive fabric of the windowsill's cushion. He knew that Potter wasn't going to show up, but his feet had brought him here without his consent.

His heart paused for a breath as the chimes from the multiple clocks in the house resounded: _clang, clang, clang_. Silence pounded at Draco's temples.

And then it was done. "That's it, then."

Draco gracefully walked to gilded doors of the ballroom, turned around, raised his two hands in front of him and blew out the expansive glass windows on the opposing wall, crystal shattering and raining down in a shimmering storm, creating a crescendo of beautiful, horrible destruction.

Draco softly shut the doors behind him.

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

**606's Note: Well, I'll see y'all in two weeks, then!**

**P.S. I'm going to London for Spring Break next Thursday and I'll be visiting the castle where they shot HP and all sorts of cool shit – LET ME BASK IN YOUR JEALOUSY.**

**P.P.S. Have I ever put a disclaimer on this? I can't remember – well, there is an implicit understanding that I happen to not be J.K.R, so I'm just borrowing **_**her**_** dollies for a bit.**


	6. Lesson Six

o

Lesson Six

o

It was raining again.

"Draco." The knock sounded softly against the door again. "We need to talk about this, Darling." But Narcissa's son didn't respond, his eyes firmly fixed on everywhere but the copy of the _Prophet_ lying on his bed: EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH GINERVA WEASLEY – 'I ALWAYS FELT THAT HARRY WAS HIDING SOMETHING'.

The air was still for a moment before Draco lifted his hand, Vanishing the newspaper and opening the door to his bedroom in one fluid motion. "Talk about what, Mother?" Draco feigned his ignorance, hoping that maybe if he pretended hard enough, the matters involving Potter would simply fade from his mind completely.

Narcissa stepped softly into the bedroom, folding her arms elegantly across the front of her white blouse, one of her 'working outfits'. "I believe you are fully aware of what I am referring to, Draco."

Draco didn't respond, turning his head to watch long strands of droplets slither down his window. "…Draco, you need to tell me what really transpired between you and Potter so that I can alert the right people and get this all sorted out."

"I seriously doubt that there is a way to 'get this all sorted out', Mother. People love this sort of scandal, even, maybe even especially, when it's not true," Draco noted without looking away from the rain.

"So it is not true?"

Draco finally turned to face her, a self-loathing sneer on his mouth. "Of course it is a lie, Mother! Even if Potter was a homosexual, which he isn't, do you really think he would have started shagging _me_ of all people?" Narcissa merely raised a carefully-manicured eyebrow in response.

Draco turned a soft shade of pink, realising he was discussing having sex with Potter with his mother. "None of it's true. We weren't even friends," Draco finally muttered before focussing on the dark weather once again.

Narcissa nodded once, unseen by her son, and slipped out of the door.

o

"-ILTHY FAGGOT! HOW DARE YOU SOIL THE HOPE OF THIS NATION WITH YOUR DISGUSTING, IMMORAL WAYS! YOU SHOULD BE BU-"

"Do they ever stop?" Theo asked loudly, his hands over his ears as Blissy carried the Howler to the flickering flames in the kitchen. Draco shook his head, circling the rim of his mug with his finger. Theo frowned worriedly, lowering his hands as the screaming was cut off by the hissing of paper frying.

"You should just hear the ones from the bitchy, Hogwarts-age girls," Draco muttered, a wry smile on his lips as he shuddered jokingly. Theo didn't laugh.

"Can't you do something about them?"

"Like what?"

Unsurprisingly to Draco, who'd thought of all the options, Theo was silent for a long time. "Well, why don't you come forward with the truth? I mean, you didn't actually –" Theo trailed off questioningly, his cheeks tinged with the lightest bit of heat.

Draco took a sip of his cold tea. "No, Theo, I didn't fuck Potter. Nor did he fuck me. He was merely repaying a debt he owed my family, nothing more."

"…But you fancied him."

Draco whipped his head upwards, mouth agape in surprise. Theo's face was blank except for a mild smile. The ex-boyfriends shared a long gaze, until Draco finally looked down with enough guilt in his eyes to confirm Theo's suspicions.

Draco's head dropped onto his folded arms heavily. "Merlin, I'm pathetic," his melancholy, muffled voice said. "I'm no better than snivelling, first-year Hufflepuffs."

Theo snickered. "You're not _that_ pitiful."

Draco grunted in disagreement, his mind wandering to the time when he'd been in this kitchen with Potter himself, calling for a cease-fire. Those weeks past felt more like years ago. Draco peeked his eyes over his forearms when Theo plopped down on the stool across from him.

"So…What are you going to do now?"

"I actually don't know," Draco admitted cripplingly. "A couple reporters sent me requests for interviews, but I haven't responded… I don't think Potter would want me to do anything."

Theo's eyebrows rose in surprised indignation. "Why the hell do you care what Potter thinks? Has he specifically told you something since this whole mess started?"

"Well, no, but–"

"Draco, I hate to say this, but if Potter hasn't said anything to you since then, he's probably purposely ignoring you, hoping that you'll just take all the blame yourself."

Draco sat up completely, a sharp spark of anger stabbing his gut. "Potter isn't like that, Nott! He wouldn't - he's probably just…"

"'Just' what, Draco?" Theo continued pointedly. Draco didn't have a response. Theo sighed, not meaning to play the devil's advocate. "Draco," Theo said softly, reaching over to pat his friend's face lightly, "don't romanticize Potter like every other person on the planet: he's another jackass bloke who wants to avoid the consequences of his actions."

"I know that, Theo! I wasn't exactly the head of the Harry Potter Fan Club at the start of this whole mess!"

Theo just raised an eyebrow in disagreement. "You sure talked about him a lot."

"I will kill you."

Theo laughed, stealing the biscuit off Draco's saucer. "Lookin' forward to it, babe," he said in his worst American accent, grinning madly.

Draco hit him with a wandless Stinging Hex in retaliation. He sniggered, his muscles strangely unaccustomed to the movement, when Theo looked around, startled and unknowing of where the pain had come from. "…So I guess I should owl Skeeter back?"

Theo shrugged. "I'm just saying that you need to take matters into your own hands. If you think going to Skeeter is the right thing to do, do it."

Draco stuck out his tongue petulantly. "Merlin, listen to us. 'The right thing' – we sound like bloody Gryffindor saps."

"Well, they do say people in love begin to resemble one another."

Draco pushed Theo off his stool.

ooOoo

"Why am I telling everything to _this_ newspaper?" Draco asked quietly as he, Pansy, and Blaise sat in the lobby of a small office building. The secretary ignored them from his authoritative perch behind the desk, his non-descript features focused intently on his computer, a contraption Draco had never seen this closely before.

Pansy readjusted her flirtatiously short skirt. "It's _The Snake Whisperer_, Draco," she stated as though he would know what that meant. She rolled her eyes at his lack of response. "Merlin, you really do live under a rock, don't you?" Draco didn't respond, too consumed by the tension he was feeling every time a new person walked through the building's front doors, as though every one of them could've been the sender of one of those Howlers.

"It's only _the_ newspaper for post-Hogwarts Slytherins, Draco. And for other intelligent power-seekers, I suppose," Pansy added as an afterthought. "And, of course, you're famous amongst these networks, so clearing this up with your fans would be a nice place to start before you move on to the bigger world."

"My _fans_?" Draco croaked, causing the harried secretary to glare at them over his computer's screen. Pansy smirked at Draco before winking at the secretary, who blushed.

Blaise rolled his eyes at his hopeless friends. "Yes, Draco, your fans. Just imagine the buzz this sort of scandal has caused amongst the _SW_'s readers: the leader of the world they hate hooking up with one of the child-stars of the Slytherin world."

"We were not!" Draco hissed for the umpteenth time.

Blaise sniggered. "Save it for the interview, Dray-Dray."

Draco opened his mouth to retaliate, but the man at the desk said that a Miss Talkalot was now ready to see them. The group of once-Slytherins stood, following a pointed finger down a blank hallway, where a lone, brass-embossed door watched them from the end. The plaque on the door read: Lucinda M. Talkalot, Editor.

Pansy knocked twice, in quick succession. "Come in," an even voice called at them. She opened the door to the office, Draco and Blaise following. Sunlight streamed from tall, linear windows on the wall opposite the door, a handsome, modern desk placed in front. A dark-skinned, tall woman smiled at them from behind the desk, her short hair cropped attractively, her surprisingly green eyes watching them, calculating. Miss Talkalot extended a hand, gesturing to the three empty armchairs.

Draco sat in the one to the far left, sitting straight-backed and alert in the way that his life-long propriety lessons had instructed. Talkalot turned her electric eyes to him, her smile turning wolfish. "Well, good afternoon, Mister Malfoy, Mister Zabini, and Miss Parkinson. I never expected to have such famous Slytherin alumni sitting in my humble office. It is quite a pleasure," she drawled, her eyes never leaving their unnerving fixation on Draco.

"No, it's our pleasure, Miss Talkalot. Blaise and I have been reading your newspaper for years."

"Oh, how wonderful; and, please, call me Lucinda." It suddenly struck Draco why the name sounded so familiar – Lucinda Talkalot had been the Slytherin Quidditch captain back in 1976, her name adorning the plaque inside the Slytherin common room. Draco looked at the young woman in a new light, the editor seeming more familiar now that he'd made a connection with his past.

"So, Mister Malfoy," Lucinda said as she continued her physical evaluation of him, "I understand that you would like to do an interview regarding the accusations from _The Prophet_ with respect to your romantic relationship with Harry Potter?"

"Yes," Draco stated calmly, slipping into the cold-hearted, sharp-tongued character he'd known since he was a child. "The libel and slander must be stopped, as I do not appreciate the debilitating effects they are having on my personal life."

Lucinda nodded, pulling her wand from her pocket. She tapped it twice on the microphone-looking device on her sleek desk. "Yes, have Peterson come to my office," she ordered it clearly before stowing her wand back in the pocket of her elegant robes. A moment later, a petite Asian witch strolled into the room, a scroll and a quill clutched in her grasp. "Peterson will be recording your responses, Mister Malfoy, if that is acceptable." Draco nodded in compliance.

"Very well. Let's start at the beginning, shall we?"

o

Draco watched his mother's reaction carefully, noting the subtle twitch of an eyebrow or the slightest movement of the corners of her mouth. He nonchalantly sipped at his tea, heart thumping quickly in his chest.

Narcissa, expression unreadable, lifted her eyes from the inky text, turning her icily-blue gaze to her son. "I do wish you had consulted me before doing this, Draco," she finally said. Draco's mouth twitched into a frown.

"Well, I figured it was my concern, Mother, so I dealt with it myself."

Narcissa sighed quietly, folding her hands atop the newspaper on the lap of her dress. "You should not feel so alone in your troubles, Darling. I'm your mother: I am here to support you through all of your woes." She reached across the small, iron table, resting her delicate, aging hand on the back of her son's.

Draco smiled slightly. "I know, Mother. But I'm not a child anymore – I have to do some things independently."

Narcissa smiled sadly, squeezing Draco's hand before pulling away. "I suppose so, my little Dragon." She looked at the copy of _The Snake Whisperer_, watching the regal picture of Draco stare back at her. "I am surprised with how thorough you were with the retelling of events; I thought you had wished to keep your nightmares a private manner?"

Draco turned his head, watching an iridescent butterfly flicker across the windows of the parlour, the faint echoes of Blissy destroying another Howler resounding far off in the Manor. "A little bit of my pride was worth getting this entire mess out into the air. Now it's merely a matter of having the conveniently-missing Potter verify my account."

"Yes, where is Potter, Draco? I was sure I would have seen some sort of statement from him by now."

Draco finally turned back to her, an oddly painful-looking smile on his face. "Potter seems to have disappeared and left me with the mess to clean up. How very Slytherin of him."

The two Malfoy's were quiet for a long moment. "…Quite so."

ooOoo

Theo whistled cheerfully, oblivious to the stares that followed him and Draco down the street. "Theodore! Let go of my hand!" Draco hissed, blushing furiously as Theo ignored him, pulling the other Slytherin along after him.

"Nope," the dark-haired man sang cheerfully, continuing his long stride. "You'll escape otherwise." _Well, that's true_, Draco had to admit.

"Well, than will you at least tell me where the bloody fuck you are taking me?"

"Sure," Theo agreed, to Draco's surprise. "We're going to lunch."

"…Why do I need to be kidnapped if we are just going to lunch?"

"Because we are going to the Leaky Cauldron for a bite." Draco's face lost the slight spattering of colour it had.

"_The Leaky Cauldron?_" Draco's voice cracked embarrassingly. "Why are we going there?" He asked vehemently, attempting to free his hand more vigorously.

Theo gripped Draco's wrist more tightly, rounding a corner and causing more stares from the adjacent Muggles. "You are suffering from PTSD, Draco."

"What?"

"It's a Muggle disease. It stands for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. You're still haunted by your memories of the war, and it's been ruining your life."

"Wha-!"

"Don't try and deny it, Draco," Theo ordered, his voice surprisingly serious. "After all, you can't even be around anyone who isn't a friend from before the war, you've been suffering horrible nightmares for months now – I do wish I'd found that out from you and not _The_ _Snake Whisperer_, by the way – and you haven't left that hellhole of a Manor for way too long. You need to conquer your fear of wizard-kind."

"I am not afraid of wizards, Nott! Now let me the fuck go, or I'll–"

"You'll what, Draco? You're hardly going to cause a scene here, in the middle of a Muggle street." Draco frowned, frantically trying to think of a plan as the two rounded the corner to the too-familiar boulevard where the Leaky Cauldron sat.

"I'm serious, Theo!" Draco's voice was shrill but quiet as Theo pushed open the door, his other hand still firmly constricting Draco's wrist.

Draco sucked in a deep breath, heart pounding erratically as the two ex-Death Eaters neared the bar, only one of the pub's three inhabitants watching closely as the opened entranceway flooded sunlight into the room.

Hermione Granger sipped her glass of water, expression unreadable from the shadows of the corner as she watched her two ex-classmates awkwardly take a seat at a far-off table. She regarded Draco as he turned to Nott, the pale boy whispering something furiously as Tom neared the customers, a scowl on his haggard features.

Hermione's mouth turned into a frown as Tom muttered something crossly at Draco and Nott before gesturing at the entrance to the pub. Nott's face turned stony as he rose to his feet, his hand on Draco's shoulder as the two began making their way to the door. Hermione caught a glimpse of Draco's resigned expression, as though his fears had been proven correct.

She dropped a few Knuts on the table-top, briskly following the two Slytherins out the door. "Draco, Nott, hold on a moment!" The two men were a few meters down the sidewalk, and stopped immediately. Nott's expression was curious and surprised as he turned to face Hermione Granger, whereas Draco's face was an odd mix of quickly-masked shame and anxiety.

"Granger," Nott blinked at her. "Can we help you with something?"

"Well, I couldn't help noticing how rudely you were just treated in there, and I was wondering if I could invite you two to lunch in a more hospitable establishment?"

Nott and Draco shared a glance, some wordless conversation passing between them.

"Sure, Granger. That sounds lovely."

o

"So," Granger began as she sat down her glass. "I'm sure you are wondering why I wanted to have lunch with you."

"…I assume it has something to do with the rumours about me and Potter?" Draco asked icily, his shields firmly intact.

Granger shrugged. "I suppose that's a part of it. But I think that your interview in _The Snake Whisperer_ is really beginning to quell people's idiotic panic," she said matter-of-factly before daintily taking a bite of her sandwich.

"_You_ read that article?" Theo asked for Draco, who was simply staring in surprise.

Granger smiled in a way that Draco could only describe as a smirk. "Of course. Who do think passed it on to the _Prophet_ this morning?"

Draco choked on air. "_The Prophet?_ Everyone in all of Wizarding Britain is going to read it, then!"

Granger blinked. "Well, yes. Isn't that what you wanted? Now people will know that you didn't seduce Harry or some rubbish." Draco paused, sharing a glance with a bemused Theo.

"Yes, I suppose that is what I wanted," Draco haltingly admitted as he swirled his tepid soup with his spoon. _Of course, what you _really_ wanted was for Potter to contact you_, that traitorous part of himself whispered. He ignored it.

"So, where has Potter been during this mess? He hasn't exactly been forthcoming with help," Theo asked squarely, watching Granger closely. The Muggleborn sighed quietly, folding her hands atop the table.

"That's actually what I was going to ask you about," she said to Draco. "Harry's been missing for a week now, and I was wondering if you had heard anything. But, by your reactions, I'd say you didn't even know that he was gone."

Muggle laughter and the clicking of silverware filled the air around the trio.

"Only a week?" Theo eventually repeated after silence had reigned for too long. "Didn't this all start about a fortnight ago?"

Granger nodded, looking serious. "Yes. After Harry broke it off with Ginny–"

"_He_ left _her_?"

Granger raised an eyebrow. "Yes. I gather you didn't actually read any of the _Prophet_ or _Witch Weekly_ articles." Draco shook his head minutely.

"Yes, well, he did. After that, he and Ron got into a huge row." Granger pushed a strand of her frizzy hair behind her ear, looking contrite. "Ron and I might love Harry and want to support him no matter what, but Ron was really shocked by everything that was happening. They said some things, and Harry left.

"I met with him a few days after that, to tell him that we all still care for him, but that the article and his cutting ties with Ginny were going to cause some pain between him and the rest of the Weasley's for a while." Granger looked down at her glass. "He seemed resigned, but told me not to worry, that 'everything would turn out alright.'" Those brown eyes looked up again. "And then he was gone."

Theo and Draco stewed on this news for a long moment, Draco watching the passer-by that strolled past the window they were seated next to. Any one of them might be Potter - that damn Potter who was making everything so fucking difficult.

"So, what do we do?" Draco finally asked, his eyes still fixed on the real world outside.

"Um, I had hoped you might know something, but considering you don't, I figured it's time we alerted the Aurors."

"What?" Theo exclaimed. "You're barmy! You can't let the Ministry know that their favourite pet is missing; if you thought the public was incensed by the whole Drarry fiasco –"

"The _what_ fiasco?" Draco asked cuttingly, snapping his neck around to gape at Theo, who blatantly ignored him.

"– then you can't even imagine how people will react when they learn that Potter is simply gone."

"…I suppose you're right," Granger conceded. "But then how do we find Harry?"

"Granger, what makes you think that you _could_ find Potter? I seriously doubt one of the most powerful wizards of our age could be found by anyone if he didn't want to be." Theo took a bite of his salad, oddly serene.

Granger suddenly seemed weary, her eyes looking aged far beyond her eighteen years. "You're right. I just hope he comes back soon," she muttered before taking up Draco's gaze out the window.

_I think we all agree there_, Draco thought to himself.

He watched as the dark clouds looming over London began to cry, a field of black umbrellas blooming on the street outside the restaurant.

_Fuck, Potter, where are you?_

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

**606's Note: I'm back from London! :D The studios were amazing, and the parts of the castles they used were awe-inspiring too. *sigh* I love England. And Drarry – it was so much fun to pass by buildings and imagine Draco and Harry living all domestically and fluffily behind those windows. 3**

**/nonsense**

**See you in two weeks!**


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